The Soul has Bandaged moments
by insideofadog
Summary: Interested in a story about an adult Inquisitor, one who is the equal of those around her? A big, sweeping tale of two mature people coming together and trying to make it work, despite their pasts. A romance told in letters & journal entries. Rated M for violence & eventual sex.
1. The Right Tool for the Right Job

**A Note from the Author:**

This story is rated M for violence and eventual sex. I'll alert you to either in individual chapters, and speaking of which, **this chapter contains descriptions of violence.**

* * *

_A first draft of Varric Tethras's "Tale of the Herald: Demons Everywhere":_

And so, the brave Inquisition set out into the Hinterlands to close the sinister rifts that were opening all across Thedas. (Punch this up, obviously—departure from Haven, hopes of all on our shoulders, etc.)

Accompanying your humble storyteller were Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast (add description, incl. "severe" and "hard"), the apostate mage Solas (try to add more than "bald"), and the Herald of Andraste, a grand title for a rather unassuming mage from the former Circle at Ostwick.

Her name is Evelyn Trevelyan. I was a bit disappointed when I met the woman, because other than the glowing thing on her hand, there's not much that stands out about her, but I'll add some description in later to make her more interesting. What's important, and maybe what's actually interesting, is that this mage can fight.

On our way to pick up this Mother Giselle woman, we got into it with some of the Templars who've been roaming around the Hinterlands fighting rebel mages. One of them got through Cassandra's guard and managed to get close to the Herald, and hit her with a nasty shield bash. She hit the ground a few feet away. I saw her put her hand up to cast a spell, when he raised an anti-magic field and started to bear down on her, his sword up. I got a bolt into his shoulder but he kept coming, and that was going to be the end of that, except...

It happened so fast, it's hard to process, and I was fighting my own Templar, so I'm not quite sure. I'll adjust later to make it really exciting (Might make a good opening, except for the whole bit with the Breach. Maybe Chapter 2? We'll see).

She just...watched him running at her. Pushed herself up on one knee, her staff behind her, calm as could be for a mage who couldn't even put up a barrier. When he got close enough—far too close for a guy with a sword to be to a mage, Hawke taught me that—she whipped the staff around, hooked that nasty curved blade around the backs of his ankles, and pulled. Before I could even figure out what was going on, she'd sliced through his tendons, pulled him off his feet, and then lunged up and cut his throat with that little dagger she uses to gather herbs.

When the fighting was over, she immediately went over and knelt next to this tree. The woman was absolutely covered in blood; fighting real live people isn't the same as demons, that's for sure, and I honestly thought she might be throwing up.

That's not going in the book, I thought, and I went over to check on her.

"You all right, Herald?" I asked.

"Hm?" she said, glancing up at me. "Oh, yes. I've just never been in this part of Ferelden before. It's frustrating."

"What, the Templars trying to kill you on your first vacation out of the Circle?"

"No, no." She gestured at the base of the tree. "I just can't identify this plant. It's similar enough to an elfroot that I'd like to know if it has any medicinal properties."

It would have been more normal if she'd been throwing up. My editor is going to hate me after this one, if I don't just cut it entirely.

* * *

_A letter from Seeker Pentaghast to Sister Leliana:_

Leliana:

Enchanter Trevelyan continues to be surprisingly proficient with combat magics for someone who has supposedly lived in a Circle her entire life. Many mages I have known tend to be drawn towards one particular element that they find complimentary to their nature, but she does not seem to have an area of specialty. When I questioned her about this, she said, "Use the right tool for the right job. Overspecialization can get you killed."

We located Mother Giselle yesterday in the Crossroads region of the Hinterlands. Our party was able to soundly defeat the mages and Templars we encountered, and the Herald placed the Crossroads under the protection of the Inquisition. For whatever that is currently worth.

I can at least attest to the efficacy of her barriers, but cannot help but wonder about her background. While many Circle mages have encountered conflict since the war began, she has obviously been training for much longer, and even seems accustomed to fighting alongside non-mages. I am at least grateful that she does not complain incessantly about sleeping outside, unlike Varric.

I assume that you have been able to determine through your own sources if she has, in fact, achieved the rank of Enchanter at the Ostwick Circle. She does appear to have the technical skill and knowledge, but what other attributes does she possess? I do not know. She has certainly promised to help many of the people in the Hinterlands, but I cannot discern her motivation, or if she even truly intends to follow through. Much remains to be seen.

Per your instructions, I will continue to better acquaint myself with the Herald, to learn of her personality and background and attempt to discern why she attended the Conclave. I will be the first to admit that I am not skilled at…making friends or drawing people out.

I must clarify—she attempted to explain her work at the Circle to me one evening at camp. I may have become frustrated by an overly technical explanation and eventually suggested that the Maker damn every last mage. She laughed at me, told me to get some sleep, and has pushed aside my subsequent attempts to inquire.

As a former Templar, perhaps the Commander might be able to comprehend and perhaps coax a bit more understandable information from the Herald? His presence does not seem to upset her.

In fact, the Herald has volunteered to take over the Commander's scouting reports from Scout Harding. You might want to look at these to get a glimpse into the way she thinks, but you know your business better than I.

Maker smile upon the Inquisition, and us all.

Cassandra

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Abstract

Mother Giselle departed six days ago for Haven. Team continues to close rifts and work towards establishing credibility with community in Crossroads. Researcher recommendations for future activities and request for additional Templar assistance also attached.

Researcher's Observations

Scout Harding passed along the Commander's request for weekly updates on the activities the Inquisition's forces here in the Hinterlands, specifically the small group comprised of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Varric Tethras, Solas, and the researcher, Enchanter Trevelyan. The Scout seemed relieved that the researcher volunteered to take this task, and it is hoped that the Commander will not be displeased with the results. The researcher's writing experience runs closer to submitting tedious proposals to Templars for approval of magical research, not field reports. If the time is available, please provide the researcher a document in the proper format and future reports will endeavor to follow the appropriate style.

The party has spent twelve days in the Hinterlands. To the researcher's best understanding, the party was tasked with several duties: talk with and gain the support of Mother Giselle, ascertain the availability of high-quality mounts, and close any rifts that had appeared.

As to the first, Mother Giselle is on now her way to Haven with some of the Inquisition's estimable troops. She was caring for the large number of refugees who have gathered in the Crossroads area seeking solace from the ongoing conflict between the mages and Templars here. The party has placed the Crossroads under the protection of the Inquisition and done small missions to improve their situation, which will hopefully also engender goodwill. A list is available upon request.

To that end, three days ago the party entered the Wildwood and cleared out all of the apostate mages there. It appears that most of the mage operations in the Hinterlands were based out of this camp, so it is theorized that their attacks will subside.

Details on mounts is provided in Future Actions section, below.

Work continues on rift closures. Process becomes less painful with each subsequent closure.

Additionally, the researcher continues to experience abbreviated sleep patterns and dreams of the Fade of a more vivid nature. As these phenomena were not an issue for the researcher previously, one can assume that they are linked to the nature of the mark.

Researcher's Recommendations

The Templars continue to perpetuate irrational violence against all in the area, even noncombatants, so the party should probably investigate further to see if both sides can be pacified for the safety of the Hinterlands populace.

Future Actions

Tomorrow the party will go to Master Dennet's farm to enquire about horses.

Pertinent Data

Days in the Hinterlands: 12

Rifts closed: 4

Demons killed: approximately 46 (bodies vanish)

People killed: approximately 27 (several shattered)

Request for Templar Assistance

Attached please find a small drawing of an herb the researcher was unable to identify. Data on name and potential uses would be appreciated. Potential sources might include Arancia's The Botanical Compendium. Researcher's copy was lost at Ostwick.

Respectfully submitted,

Enchanter Trevelyan

_[At the bottom of the report is a detailed sketch of an herb.]_


	2. Who Gives a Mage a Horse?

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald,

I left the Kirkwall Templars nearly a year ago, and if I never read another one of these reports for the rest of my life, I will be content.

In the future, simply written letters will suffice. I would tell you to hand the duty off, but Solas has refused, Cassandra already has enough responsibility and her handwriting is nearly illegible, and I am not interested in recruiting Varric for reasons which should be obvious.

Your report was, at least, thorough. We will send what assistance we can, and in the future, continue to act on your own initiative.

I have included a copy of Ines Arancia's The Botanical Companion for future herbal inquiries. I believe what you have drawn is a royal elfroot.

Please spend some time with Cassandra. The more she knows about you personally, the more her worries will decrease and the less I will get nagged about "facilitating Mage-Templar dialogue." I am training an army and have better things to do.

Most importantly, if you feel that these dreams you mentioned are any attempt at a demonic possession, you must tell Cassandra immediately, because you could be in very great danger. You seemed quite capable of dealing with the demons we encountered at the Breach, but that does not mean that you must not be constantly vigilant. Please keep me advised.

Commander Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

Oh! Good news, then! I would have come to speak to you again before leaving for the Hinterlands, but you said that you were once a Templar when we met. Templars at Ostwick certainly enjoyed these reports, possibly because the poor fellows got antsy when mages talked to them. Like to watch and all that.

Demons, no problem. Lots of experience eliminating them at Ostwick and afterwards. Extensive research performed I did research on effective spells, wards, and combat techniques, primarily to reduce rates of mortality at Harrowings and hunt abominations. Demons have it coming. So pushy! Lots of paperwork involved in this sort of research, of course. Sadly, all was lost at Ostwick when the Circles disbanded, including a copy of the Litany of Adralla. Terrible waste.

Proximity to rifts seems to impact sleep. Close the rifts, sleep better. Anyway, sleep deprivation is not necessarily linked to danger of demonic possession, although it is certainly not pleasant. Prayer is helping, plus some herbs from Solas. Sweet of you to worry about me, though. I hadn't heard the "constant vigilance" lecture in over a year! Are you sure you're not still a Templar?

Set up several guard towers for Dennet and eliminated aggressive wolf activity in the area. Horses should be on their way as of two days ago. Master Dennet gave me a horse! I haven't been near one of these since I was…eleven? I have attached a sketch in the hopes that the horses are of sufficient quality for the Inquisition. Who gives a mage a horse? The world has truly gone mad.

Closed two more rifts and identified another as extremely dangerous based on the types of nearby demons. We have gathered enough resources that will attempt to perform necessary upgrades on equipment and approach the rift later.

We will return to Haven in the next few days to consult with Mother Giselle. As per your orders, I will attempt to make friends with Cassandra to reduce her suspicion levels. You will forgive me for not immediately revealing more of myself to the Inquisition earlier, but Cassandra was busy threatening to kill me for murdering the Divine. Still, I also remember the first time I met you, sparkling at me in that "holy smite" sort of way, but then later you showed yourself to be a dazzling conversationalist and a firm ally. And so, I will obey your command and chat with Cassandra. Perhaps she and I will discuss my research again, or, even better, gossip about boys! If it is the latter I will be sure to include it in my reports.

Thank you for the book. Embarrassing to admit, but it's been a good fifteen years since I studied herbology.

Respectfully submitted,

Enchanter Trevelyan

_[At the bottom of the letter is a rough sketch of one of Dennet's horses.]_


	3. Some Folks

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

Despite her mysterious arrival, the Herald is less mysterious than I initially thought. We have begun to take second watch together, and have talked over the course of several evenings.

"I came to the Ostwick Circle when I was perhaps eight years old. Ostwick has always been a small Circle, and our relations with the Templars have perhaps been more…moderate because of this. Don't get me wrong," she laughed, "they rarely spoke to us, but if you submit enough research petitions and read enough responses, you start to get a general idea of who people are."

"I myself had a particularly memorable Harrowing, and so I sought a mentor interested in performing research on how mages might better be able to prevent demonic possession."

"What happened during your Harrowing?" I asked.

More laughter. "Funny story. I'll tell you about it over an ale, sometime."

From what I was able to gather, her work was to identify mages who might be unable to pass their Harrowing, and work with them to be able to resist demonic temptation and survive the ordeal. She had also begun to research techniques to identify adult mages who might be more likely to be susceptible to possession and use of blood magic, and potentially prevent disaster from ever occurring. Noble aims, I suppose, but it seemed unrealistic to me.

"Enchanter Brahms has classified demons into a variety of types. Now, what if there are also certain types of people in the world that these types of demons are attracted to? And what if there are things we can do for these people to make them less likely to fall to temptation?"

"Imagine you are a mage. Before you came to the Circle, you had an enormous family. Twelve brothers and sisters. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and babies all the time. And you know that when you grow up, that you are going to have a family full of just as much love and noise and joy. Kind of like you probably grew up knowing you were going to slay dragons, right?"

I might have said something rude.

"Anyway, you're thirteen years old and suddenly, things change. You're in the Circle. You can never marry. You are forbidden to fall in love. You can sneak a quick fuck in the corner, try to grab a moment for yourself and someone else, but it never lasts. And if you or your lover get pregnant, they take the baby away the moment it is born, and you never see it again. All you wanted—all you want—is a family, and it is taken away from you. At night, in your dreams, you hear your baby cry."

She looked at me across the campfire.

"Was that…I mean…" Was it her? I could not ask.

She paused a long time. "No, that is a level 4. Slightly more women than men, but not as many as some would expect. Ratio…I can't remember exactly, since my research notes are lost, but rough estimate of about 40/60. Highly susceptible to influence by desire demons, possibility of rage demons…again, I wish I had my numbers for you. Interventions, in order of efficacy, include one: assignment of a mentor. Older, more experienced mage who has also undergone this experience and is willing to counsel and share insight about how to overcome it. Two: potential assignment to teach and/or mentor children who have just entered the Circle from the outside world. Supervised, of course. Three: potential assignment to work the Circle gardens."

"The gardens?"

"It's soothing work. Encourages patience, longer-term thinking. Subjects felt productive and needed. We honestly applied interventions one and three to a lot of the levels."

"Did it work?"

"Better than my more skeptical colleagues thought it would. People, all people, Seeker, need useful work, need to feel that they are not isolated, and that their feelings are heard."

"All of this sounds like wishful thinking to me, Herald. What do you do about mages who are consumed with the thought of power? Who disregard all others in their desire to control, to dominate, to destroy?"

She paused for another long moment.

"At the Ostwick Circle, Seeker, I worked with a Templar from the Free Marches. Grew up on a tiny farm until he felt the call to follow the Chant of Light and serve Andraste. He taught me a valuable lesson. 'Trevelyan,' he'd say, "Some folks just need killin'.'"

She stood up. "With that, I think I take my leave for the evening. I will rouse Solas. Perhaps when we arrive back at Haven, you can return the favor and tell me something of yourself."

We have done much good in the Hinterlands, and the Herald wants to return to aid the people by clearing out the Templars after we have conferred with Mother Giselle. We may have identified several prospective agents in the area, and I would not be surprised if many of the people here travel to Haven to join us as well. I am beginning to have a good feeling about her.

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

This letter is to accompany Corporal Vale on his journey to Haven and attest to his desire to join the Inquisition. The Corporal has agreed to leave the Crossroads only after the safety of the refugees was assured and I believe he will acquit himself well in the service of our cause.

Thank you for making the time to talk with me when I returned to Haven. I have worked with Templars before, but we never had time for any sort of friendly chat. Perhaps there is hope for mages and Templars after all! Now, if I could just fix that hole in the sky…

Speaking of Templars—what a terrible transition. I really must work on my letters—we gained information about the location of the Templar camp here in the Hinterlands. We will search for Warden Blackwall, hit the camp early the next morning, and then return to Haven to replenish supplies. Then, perhaps, the Storm Coast.

Respectfully submitted,

Sincerely,

Enchanter Trevelyan

_[Below the signature is a detailed pencil sketch of Vale assisting refugees at the Crossroads.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald Trevelyan:

Corporal Vale has arrived at Haven and will hopefully be of great assistance to the Inquisition.

I find myself curious as to under what circumstances you found yourself working personally with Templars. In my time in the Circle, we may have sent reports and missives back and forth, but we had very little personal contact. Was this allowed by the Knight-Commander at Ostwick?

Please notify me as soon as possible as to the status of the Grey Warden and the Templars.

Be safe.

Cullen


	4. Templars in the Hinterlands

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

Our search for the Warden Blackwall was a partial success. He knows little of the fate of the other Wardens in the South, but he expressed interest in assisting us in the closure of the Breach. He has travelled with us for two days now, and seems to know his way around a sword and shield. Between you and me, I think he finds me just a bit batty, collecting herbs and ore samples and such and making notes for further research. All party members have complained until they needed a healing tincture made out of elfroot I collected. Except for Varric. He hasn't stopped complaining.

After that scene in Val Royeaux, it is good for something to go well.

Closed another Rift. Solas says he finds my "zeal" at killing demons "somewhat disturbing." Possibly because of growing collection of unidentified goo for further research.

Will answer your question in another letter, after we take care of the Templars tomorrow. I think I hear a bear approaching.

Respectfully submitted,

Enchanter Trevelyan

PS It was definitely a bear.

_[a small drawing of Blackwall's face in profile is drawn at the bottom of the letter. Much care has been taken in the details of his beard]_

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

So, before I was rudely interrupted, I was going to tell you:

After researching the factors leading to possession for several years, I began to work with apprentices. Taught them Brahm's demonic categories, tips for identification of each type of demon in the Fade, but also conducted interviews with apprentices and helped to identify areas where they might find themselves most vulnerable and suggested various proven interventions in the months and weeks leading up to each apprentices' Harrowing. Essentially, I tried to help apprentices identify and shore up their weak spots so that they might survive their Harrowing.

The Ostwick Templars saw a decrease in failed Harrowings and, to their credit, were pleased. Our Circle had long requested a mage representative be allowed to accompany Templars when they set out to hunt and recapture escaped mages. Some mages would flee the Circle, but had not resorted to blood magic or become malificar. However, the stress and fear of being recaptured by the Templars often causes escaped mages to go down this destructive path. It was hoped that having a mage accompany the pursuing Templars would reduce fatality rates and permit at least a few more mages to be returned peacefully to the Circle.

After seeing the effectiveness of my work with the apprentices, the Templars agreed that I would be allowed to travel with them in an attempt to "talk down" mages who might simply be returned safely to the Circle. And so I went. I fought a lot of demons, a lot more abominations, and every once in a while, I brought somebody home.

The Circles are a broken system, so I worked to save who I could, whether with my research or with the Templar hunters. Many mages in the Circle were not happy with this "collaboration," but I was willing to work when all they did was talk. I was promoted to the rank of Enchanter when I was twenty-six, which was considered far too early by some and long overdue by others. Not that it matters much now.

We put the renegade Templars down in the Hinterlands yesterday. By the end they were like mad dogs, attacking anything that moved.

Our return to Haven will be delayed by about a week, because I may have broken several ribs on a shield. In other news, Cassandra has a new shield I took from a dead Templar.

My jests are pointless…it was horrible. Killing those men goes against everything I have worked for. I feel disgusting.

That, I think, is enough for one letter. Perhaps putting this on paper serves my purposes as well as yours, for this part of my life at the Circle is now over. Perhaps it is good to give an accounting and then move on. I will pass this on to Ser Crow before I regret it, and attempt to get some sleep. I will report when we are on our way back to Haven.

Yours, etc,

Enchanter Trevelyan

_[in the corner of the letter is a small drawing of one of Leliana's ravens inspecting an inkwell]_


	5. Dream Journal

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald Trevelyan:

Thank you for sharing your tale with me. I regret the deaths of those Templars, but they were threatening innocents, and you did what must be done. In these times, it is perhaps important to remember that mages and Templars are capable of coexisting. You are correct that the Circle is no longer a functional system, but I believe it is one that could be reformed. Perhaps mages could be encouraged to have a life outside of the Circle, still under supervision. A mixed military service, perhaps, or healers' clinics?

Perhaps it might be helpful to know that, because of your efforts, the tension between the Inquisition's mages and Templars (that was unfortunately seen by both you and Chancellor Roderick) appears to have lessened somewhat. I understand that you spoke with both sides? I should not be surprised, at this point…about two weeks ago, a very determined-looking group of mages approached some Templars at noon mealtime and presented them with a basket of elfroot potions. The Templars accepted the gift and graciously, if awkwardly, asked the mages to break bread with them.

The whole exchange reminded me of something I witnessed as a child, over an especially cold winter. I watched our best mouser and the family's mabari (who up until this point had been mortal enemies), inch closer and closer until they were huddled together for warmth. Both cat and dog looked vaguely horrified by the development.

And so now, every mealtime, a small contingent of mages sits and converses with the Templars, or vice versa. It has removed a large burden from my shoulders to not have to act as intermediary between the two groups. You yourself have probably noticed that I still find conversation with mages...awkward. It is a reminder to me that I must work to be the Commander of all of the Inquisition's forces, mages included.

I hope that you heal swiftly. Do not put yourself in any additional danger—that's an order from the Commander of the Inquisition.

It is late and I have a mountain of paperwork ahead of me. I look forward to your return to Haven. Perhaps when you do, you could do something about Chancellor Roderick?

Cullen

P.S. I hope your nightmares have subsided. It is a problem many Templars struggle with, but sadly, our main strategy appears to be drowning our sorrows. It is not particularly effective.

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

Glad things are back on track at Haven. Unfortunately, dealing with Chancellor Roderick is beyond even the Herald of Andraste. Get me the support of an Elven god or two, and I might be able to work with him.

It is unsurprising that your Templars may have problems with nightmares. Contact with demons can alter a person's connection with the Fade. Additionally, Templar life can be difficult and thankless, and this can manifest itself in dreams.

This is not my area of specialization, but it is tangential to my research. Allow me to indulge myself, just one last time:

Typical interventions include sleeping draughts or excessive alcohol consumption. Both are addictive and tend to lose efficacy over time. Not advised.

Suggested intervention:

Day Journal

Monitor and record activity throughout the day: time slept, food, subjects discussed, books read, amount of time awake, feelings experienced, etc. Subject can then be assisted by experienced mage in identifying patterns that might lead to the presence and/or worsening of nightmares. As a simplified example, if not obtaining a full night's sleep for several days produces nightmares, subject should attempt to alter this behavior. Proximity to certain places or activities can also exacerbate the situation. Even if behavior cannot be altered, subjects often find keeping a journal to alleviate some of the feelings that might be causing the nightmare state in the first place.

Dream Journal

Subject records their dreams and nightmares in the journal.

Recurrent nightmares often include recurrent themes, which in turn are often tied to the subject's experience. As a simplified example, experience with a rage demon might produce dreams of a rage demon, or dreams suffused with anger. Subjects will work with a mentor to build a plan for each nightmare: "When I experience this again, what will I change?" Identifying these patterns and creating a plan will enable the dreamer to potentially alter the dream as they experience it, and, in a best-case scenario, begin a state of lucid dreaming and assume control of their own dream.

Please note that while these techniques have been proven effective in mages who experienced possession attempts or other events that altered their connection to the Fade—near-death experience, torture, violence, attempted mind control—researchers were unable to obtain a representative sample of Templars. Templars are resistant to receiving trained mage support in this matter, but might be amenable to discussing with senior Templar mentor. Solo reflection is not ideal, but certainly possible. Additionally, the connection that a mage has to the Fade differs from that of a Templar, so results may vary. Drawbacks to these interventions appear to be nearly non-existent, however, so an attempt may prove very worthwhile. Again, the simple act of writing down the dreams and nightmares can often make the dreamer feel better.

Hopefully this information is helpful to you. Perhaps you will find it in your heart to forgive just one last advisory report from a verbose mage.

For what it is worth, I have attempted these interventions myself, and they do help. It was initially how I was able to identify that proximity to rifts exacerbates my condition.

Cassandra informs me that our delay here in the Hinterlands has allowed Leliana to send additional supplies. We will depart tomorrow if the weather holds out, forgo stopping at Haven, and continue straight to the Storm Coast to investigate this mercenary company.

Yours, etc.

Enchanter Trevelyan

_[in the corner of the letter is a small sketch of Varric, seated in front of a campfire. He appears to be writing in a small notebook.]_


	6. My Rightful Place

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald:

Please be cautious on the Storm Coast. Scout Harding is heading there to meet you.

Is your injury fully healed?

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

Thank you for your concern, but believe me, Cassandra's keeping an eye on me. I have been reminded of my rightful place on the battlefield, and she's been putting that new shield to good use.

Scout Harding tells me she's missing some scouts who were sent to negotiate with a group of mercs or bandits called the Blades of Hessarian. I am going to make bringing our people back a priority, and then I will investigate the Chargers.

Unsurprisingly, the weather here on the Storm Coast is miserable. Who would have thought I would ever miss the Hinterlands, or cold, windy Haven, for that matter?

Trevelyan

_[At the bottom of the letter is a small sketch of a Prophet's Laurel growing on a rock]_

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

I will fill you in on the details when I get back to Haven, but we have recruited the Blades of Hessarian to the Inquisition. More specifically, they have sworn to serve the Herald of Andraste because I bested their leader in single combat or some such nonsense. Their leader is Ivar of the Blades. I think they will be a good resource on the Storm Coast, despite their strange allegiance to me. Just keep this in mind when dealing with them—they think they work for me, not the Inquisition. If you want them to do something, just tell them the Herald said so, I suppose. Sorry about that, but weird cults always have weird rules.

I have also made contact with and hired the Bull's Chargers on a provisional basis. Their leader, The Iron Bull, is, shall we say, more closely affiliated with the Qunari government than one might expect. I will speak with Leliana about this as soon as I return to Haven. The company itself seems capable and friendly; Iron Bull is certainly a character. I think he might have tried to seduce both the quartermaster and Scout Harding before we left.

Also, we saw a dragon. I stayed away from it, but our troops should be aware of its location. I may have killed some of its young.

We will begin our return tomorrow. I look forward to drying out.

Trevelyan

_[Along the entire bottom of the paper runs a sketch of a stormy, rugged shoreline. A large winged creature is visible in the sky.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald:

Acknowledged. Safe journey home.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

We have arrived in the Fallow Mire and established a camp thanks to the efforts of Scout Harding. What is there to say about a bog filled with the restless dead that I have not already heard a thousand times already from Sera and Vivienne? I travelled with the Templar hunters all over the Free Marches, and I have never been anywhere quite as miserable as this.

The good news is that our troops appear to still be alive, contingent upon me fighting a duel with some Avvar brat, which I will get to as soon as I am done writing you this letter and attempt to get a good night's sleep in a very damp tent.

Additionally, I met the most fascinating man today! As I approached a rift, with the intention of closing it, I found a large Avvar warrior regarding the rift most philosophically. His name, appropriately enough, is Sky Watcher, and he was curious about the rifts, so he had come out into the bog to study them. After we closed the rift, he asked us some questions and told us the above information about our troops.

He described the rift to us in terms of his personal cosmology, which I found to be very interesting (and pretty much just as valid an explanation for the rifts as anything we have been able to come up with). I am not entirely familiar with the religion of the Avvar; I never studied it because I never thought I'd find myself in this part of the world.

Vivienne pronounced his ideas to be "outrageous."

"Outrageous," he intoned, "is what you wore to a bog."

I hope to have more news of our troops within the next few days, and will send you a crow as soon as I have more information or have resolved the situation. We will set out for the Avvar fortress at first light.

Trevelyan

_[In the corner of the letter is a rough sketch of an Avvar warrior looking up at the night sky.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald:

Acknowledged. Please do not stay in the Fallow Mire to write a book about the religion of the Avvar.

Be safe.

Cullen


	7. Observing Mages

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

The Inquisition hostages have been freed and the Avvar chieftain defeated easily.

Our group is on our way back to Haven, including the hostages and the Avvar warrior, Sky Watcher. Despite our differing faiths, he has enough sense to have identified the rifts as a problem and wants to work to stop them. I happily accepted his offer of aid, and feel that he will be an effective agent. At the very least, he seems to be a capable warrior, and I thought you might appreciate someone you didn't have to whip into shape.

Part of the loot we found included some Grey Warden relics, which made Blackwall very happy, indeed. He and Sera got drunk this evening on a bottle of something I found in the Avvar fortress, augmented by a particularly rank Avvar beverage supplied by Sky Watcher. Blackwall then tried to give me what would have been an extremely damp kiss and almost fell into the bog. Luckily for all, he managed to miss at both.

Our progress tomorrow may prove to be a bit abbreviated, but a slower pace will probably be good for the former hostages, and will give me time to gather some healing herbs to treat their injuries.

We have been joined by the Chargers, who were out on a mission to the area as well and have provided much-needed healing to the hostages. I can be many things to the Inquisition, but I am really not a very good healer at all.

An observation: one of their number is obviously a mage, although she attempts to conceal this. Do me a favor and don't say anything to the Templars back at Haven. She's a talented battle mage and, in my opinion, is old enough and experienced enough to not be a problem. I will vouch for her.

I am ready to be back at Haven. I know that you like to meet us at the gates to receive our status report and greet the return of the Herald in front of the troops and all that, but I strongly suggest that you avoid doing so this time. We all smell terrible.

Trevelyan

_[in the corner of the letter is a small drawing of a Dawn Lotus flower]_

* * *

_ A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan:_

Herald:

Thank you for apprising us of the apostate mage. I will have the Templars keep an eye on her. Mages are of course welcome in the Inquisition, but I still do not like the idea of them moving through Haven completely unsupervised.

When you arrive back at Haven and have readied yourself, please notify one of us so we can convene in the War Room. The Inquisition has grown and we believe now is the time to begin the work necessary to close the Breach.

I hope you know that none of this would be possible without your mark.

Cullen

* * *

_ A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

We arrive tomorrow morning. Thank you for your gracious offer, but the mage will remain under my supervision. The Templars are perfectly welcome to observe my movements, although it occurs to me that perhaps the responsibility for this has been yours all along, has it not?

I will be sure to notify my mark of your appreciation.

Enchanter Trevelyan


	8. The Madness of Your Side and Mine

_From Enchanter Trevelyan's journal:_

Personal notes:

Still feeling angry about Commander Cullen's letter, and about my unrealistic expectations of him. This anger clearly indicates that I would like to be seen as more than a mark or a mage, but as a woman. I must work to regain a professional distance and discourage familiarity. I am not a woman, I am a weapon.

After returning from the Fallow Mire, bathing, and convening with advisers, it is agreed that the Inquisition has gained enough power and political clout to approach mages or Templars for assistance in closing the Breach. Strangely, Leliana, Josepine, Cassandra, and Cullen seem to be unable to reach consensus on this decision. I feel uncomfortable making this decision, but someone must.

Perhaps by "choosing" one side, it will become clear that the other side is actually more desirable. I would then be overruled and a decision would be made.

I shall attempt to evaluate and organize.

Problem:

Choose mages or Templars for help in closing Breach

Can we contact both?

~Violence on part of Lord Seeker Lucius indicates otherwise

~Large % of rebel mages also intractable

~Breach is stable, but for how long? Unknown.

Contacting Templars

Advantages:

~Suppression of Breach's magic seems theoretically sound

~Templars are large, well-organized fighting force

~Would make Commander Cullen happy

~~Not a valid consideration

Disadvantages:

~Lord Seeker Lucius openly hostile

~No sign they are willing to join

~Safety &amp; status of current Inquisition mages

Contacting Mages

Advantages:

~Increase of magical power to Mark equally theoretically sound

~GE Fiona seems cooperative

~Ascertain status of apprentices &amp; Tranquil

Disadvantages:

~Not an organized fighting force

~Would require training

~~Herding cats

~Individuals unwilling to submit to any form of authority

~~Abominations/Blood Magic/Possession

~~Herding cats

~Possible hostility towards Inquisition Templars

~~Current Inquisition Templars relatively moderate/reasonable

Final Thoughts:

~You need to get this out of your system

~Mages and Templars are both a pain in the ass

~Chances of Breach closure pure speculation, either side could be valid

Conclusions:

~Mage population includes children

~Templars are an army, mages are not

~Is the Inquisition an army? Should it become one?

**~~NO.**

Therefore, contact mages.

Future Actions:

~Review conclusion in two days

~Go to Redcliffe

~Personal considerations immaterial

~How to work through this?

~~Talk to Cassandra

~~Kill a bear

~~Locate Enchanter Ellandra via phylactery &amp; deliver note

Remember: You are Enchanter Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, and you will do what must be done. You are not a woman, you are a weapon.

* * *

_From Enchanter Trevelyan's journal:_

Personal Notes:

Two days have passed and I still feel comfortable with my conclusion. I have a moral obligation to protect those weaker than me—the children and apprentices. The addition of the Templars to the Inquisition would turn us into an army, and that cannot be the entirety of who we are. What will result from the addition of the mages is anyone's guess, but Maker knows the rebel mages would make a piss-poor military force.

Consulted with Knight-Captain Rylen about the phylactery found on dead Templar in Hinterlands. He was able to point me in the appropriate direction. Very probably he will tell Commander Cullen about this, but I will be well on my way before it happens. Nice man, Ser Rylen. One of the good ones. Wonder if he thinks that I am "one of the good ones," too.

Told advisers I had business to attend to in the Hinterlands. I will return Ellandra her phylactery and the note from her lover, talk to Cassandra to clear my mind, then send a note to Haven telling them I am going to Redcliffe.

Commander Cullen appears to have noticed that our relationship has grown less familiar, although he seems unable to figure out why. He approached me before I left, seemingly with the sole purpose of having an awkward conversation about the weather. He took his leave after we established that it would be nice if the sunshine would hold out for my journey.

What he said in his letter is simply how he feels. I am no longer angry with him. It hurts deep in my chest, but this shall pass.

Ellandra's phylactery and the Templar's note are the Maker's way of reminding me that such dreams are impossible.

I am not a woman, I am a mage.

I am a weapon.

I am fire.

I am the sharp edge of a blade.


	9. My Tiny Sorrow

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

This letter is to accompany Enchanter Ellendra. She is a skilled healer and will be an asset to the Inquisition.

We are finishing up here in the Hinterlands. I will keep you apprised of our next move.

Enchanter Trevelyan

* * *

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

Our business in the Hinterlands seems to be drawing to a close. Both the mage and Templar forces operating here have been destroyed and we have established several camps. I am pleased to hear that many of the refugees have joined the Inquisition at Haven, a fact made possible not only by the lack of conflict, but also by the impression that the Herald has made on everyone that she meets here. Many are swayed by the comfort of miracles in this desperate time, but others follow the promise of a capable, measured leader. While Vivienne remains aloof and a bit suspicious of the Herald, I think that even she is impressed.

The Herald has cut a wide berth around Redcliffe, however, and I think she is still deliberating on the next step to take. On our last excursion to the Hinterlands, we discovered the body of a dead Templar. Unable to stand the effects of lyrium withdrawal, he had taken his own life and left a note and phylactery for his lover, a mage named Ellendra. Yesterday, we were able to locate her and deliver these items, and the Herald convinced the mage to join us at Haven. Enchanter Ellendra seems a capable healer, and her decision to not join the rebel mages might ingratiate her a bit with our Templars.

We made camp in an abandoned farmhouse that evening, and the Herald asked that I take second watch with her. She often uses this time to discuss the events of the day with me before writing a report for the Commander, but instead she fetched oil and a whetstone from her pack and began to meticulously inspect her staff. I took her actions as a desire for silent company, so I too began to sharpen my blade.

As we worked together, I mused on how I have come to rely on her counsel and company as a vital part of the Inquisition. I find she is more than a figurehead, and I feel the hand of the Maker in this. Perhaps she truly was sent by Andraste, who smiles upon the Inquisition. Or perhaps this is what I need to believe to justify my own choices.

I was surprised when she spoke.

"Attractions between mages and Templars are common," she said, "for we work and live in such close proximity. But I have never known such a liaison to go on for so long or be between older, more experienced individuals. They must have been very skilled at hiding it." She began to sharpen the wicked curve of her staff's blade.

"The letter he wrote her…did it remind you of someone you had lost?" I asked, hesitantly. She spoke often of the pain of others in the Circle, but rarely her own.

And perhaps, if I am honest, I sought a reason to speak of my pain, my loss, as well.

"Perhaps," she said, "but it was someone who was never mine to lose. Templars never are."

"I knew a man," I said, "a mage. From a long time ago. He died at the Conclave." I hate to even write it, to think of it again. My tiny sorrow, so minuscule compared to the magnitude of grief unleashed in the world by the Breach.

She put down her whetstone, and began oiling her staff with a soft cloth, and smiled at me. I am glad she knew to not ask me for more.

"I know every time I tell you about my individual research profiles, you wonder if the story I tell you is about myself. This time…" she smiled again, but now it was small and sad, "it really is."

"Many young mages experience a dangerous infatuation. Desire demons," she said, reverting to her instructor-voice, "prey upon vulnerable individuals who want something that is unattainable or forbidden. Subjects observed developing attachments would be closely monitored. The Templar would be reassigned to elsewhere in the Circle and a more senior mage would counsel the individual as to the impossibility of the situation. Illicit attachments forced into the light of day often fade quickly when confronted with reality or, if necessary, outright rejection from the object of desire. The entire process is, in a word, humiliating. They make you confess under threat of Tranquility. There is corporal punishment and solitary confinement."

"Your…scars?" When she had gotten too close to that Templar, I'd learned both that she was not particularly talented at healing herself or others, and that her torso was covered with scars. Some were of a type I had seen before, and the others were strange, but I had kept my mouth shut and bandaged her up. There was no reason to push at the time. We all have things we'd rather not talk about.

"Well, some of those are from a fight with a demon a couple of years ago, but the old ones on my back? Yes. It's probably the only time in the past twenty years I've benefited from being 'Lady Trevelyan.' The Knight-Commander at Ostwick was replaced when word got out that the child of the Trevelyans, devout Andrastians and major Chantry donors, had been beaten and locked in solitary confinement for three weeks."

"What?" I said, surprised. I may have said it…louder than I intended, because Varric began to stir in his tent.

"I was young, just an Apprentice, and I hadn't learned to do healing spells yet. So I just sort of laid down there and knit myself back together. Haven't ever been able to cast a decent heal spell—it comes out all twisted."

"What's going on out there?" Varric stuck his head out of the tent. "Herald! Are you telling tales with Cassandra? You promised you'd include me!"

"Varric, the last time you stayed up to hear me talk about my research, you fell asleep and snored the whole way through. Besides, we're talking about boys. You couldn't possibly want to be included in such a thing."

His head vanished back inside the tent, and after just a few seconds of rustling, he emerged wearing the most…horrendous dressing gown. He sat down eagerly on a nearby supply crate.

"So, who are we talking about?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. "It's Iron Bull, isn't it? I see the way he looks at you after a fight, Herald."

She regarded him serenely. "Could be." The moment was gone. I wonder if we will speak of it again.

"Then again, he looks at Cassandra the same way," he grumbled.

"Far be it from me to criticize your finely-honed powers of observation, Varric," she said, "but I think Iron Bull would be happy to take all three of us on after a particularly invigorating fight."

"You have a point," he acknowledged, scratching his stubble. "Okay, then, how about Curly? When we're at Haven, the man can't keep his eyes off of you."

"The Commander? He's a Templar. That's what they do: they watch mages. Personally, I think the Commander trusts me just about as far as he could throw me. Then again, given his size and estimable physique, perhaps that is a poorly chosen turn of phrase."

"Well, you do write him letters all the time."

"That is true. A mage and a Templar, then? That's terribly romantic, Varric. But you know how it always ends. The dashing Templar cannot forsake his vows and who he is, and rejects the mage. She lives the rest of her life pining for what she cannot have, she is caught and made Tranquil, or—and this is my personal favorite—she sacrifices herself to save him from a demon, then flings herself from the Circle Tower to avoid living life as an abomination."

"Oh yeah, that last one is a classic."

"I think it is safe to say that there is no future for a mage and a Templar, although one is never remiss in reminding we two, lest we get ourselves into trouble. There is one element that you overlook, however, storyteller."

"Oh, and what's that, Herald?"

"How could any woman have eyes for another when you are constantly tempting us?"

"Oh, I see where this is going. Hilarious."

"Especially when your wares are displayed as delectably as they are now. Did you steal that robe from Vivienne, or simply romance it out from under her?"

"It always comes back to the chest hair, doesn't it? My eyes are up here, Herald."

"My apologies, Master Tethras. That shade of…chartreuse…is just so becoming, especially with the orange embroidery."

"I can take a hint as well as the next man. If you ladies are done gossiping, Bianca and I will take the next watch."

"Cassandra, you get some rest." She smiled. "Thank you for speaking with me; it…helped. I must pen one of my love letters to the Commander to inform him that we are going to Redcliffe Village tomorrow."

"As you wish, Herald." I said.

And so, the decision was made. We—myself, Leliana, Josephine, Cullen— had all voiced our individual opinions, but none of us felt truly capable of deciding our fate. What had stopped us? We four could not have been afraid, we who declared the Inquisition in the face of the world's opposition, we who searched for a way to close the Breach while the rest of the world burned.

She was no braver or more dedicated than any of the rest of us, but she decided. In my heart I believe that the Maker saw we had a need, and sent us our missing piece.

"Redcliffe? Curly's gonna shit himself, Evelyn," Varric frowned.

"I know, Varric."


	10. The Die is Cast

_A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen: _

Commander:

I have finished my business in the Hinterlands. Cassandra, Solas, Varric and I are going to Redcliffe today to open talks with the mages. Cassandra agrees with me that now is the time for action.

I realize that you would rather we attempt to contact the Templars first. I have chosen this course of action for two reasons:

1) When I went to Val Royeaux, the mages approached me civilly and asked to talk. The Templars literally punched a Reverend Mother in the head.

2) The rebel mages have what may be a large number of children and Tranquil travelling with them. There is only a remote chance I may be able to remove them from Redcliffe, but either way, I need to see the conditions they are living under.

I will attempt to not negotiate anything lasting with the mages without consulting with the rest of the War Council. Should I need to make an immediate decision, I have Cassandra, whose judgment I trust implicitly.

Enchanter Trevelyan

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Enchanter Trevelyan, written even more carefully than usual:_

Herald:

I strongly disagree with this course of action but I also cannot think of a time your judgment has steered us wrong.

I think that I have…upset you, given you indication that I do not trust you. I had hoped to apologize to you in person when you returned to Haven but that obviously did not happen.

Knowing you has changed many of my attitudes about mages, but I will always remain cautious. It is who I am. But I also respect your opinion, even if I disagree with it, and I trust you with the fate of the Inquisition. I hope that you knew this before you went into Redcliffe.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_ A letter from Enchanter Trevelyan to Commander Cullen, scrawled quickly on a scrap of paper:_

Cullen:

Situation in Redcliffe worse than initially expected. Will send a crow to Haven with arrival time when we change horses—need to see everyone in the War Room.

Evelyn

* * *

_A letter from Seeker Pentaghast (whose penmanship is truly terrible) to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

The Tevinter Magister is defeated and the Herald has negotiated a full partnership with the rebel mages.

I realize this is not the news you want, but please do not judge until you have at least read the Herald's report and spoken to her personally about what she experienced.

I have attached her report here, as well as numbers on the mages, including supplies and resources they bring with them. Please mobilize some of your more moderate mages and Templars to act as emissaries (and examples!) for our new allies.

The mages are heavily indebted to the Herald, and their leadership has lost a lot of credibility, so she may be able to step into that gap, at least to smooth the transition.

Our full contingent will be leaving tomorrow, as Queen Anora has ordered the mages to vacate Redcliffe as soon as possible. I wish that we could stay longer here, but the option simply does not exist.

As you can see in the report, the Herald's experience was extremely stressful and she is exhausted. She says work must be done to prepare and train the mages to assist her in closing the Breach, and Solas estimates she will not be at her full strength for at least a week.

The die is cast. I pray to the Maker that these mages are what we need.

Cassandra

* * *

_ From Commander Cullen's personal journal, written about a week later:_

She sleeps, but no one can say if she will awaken. I do not know what to do, so I will write.

We—she—closed the Breach. We celebrated. She was quiet, sat to the side. It must have been very painful—she wrote once that closing rifts hurt her. She only mentioned it the once, though. That creature came, with Samson and an army of Templars, perverted and strange. Then the dragon, and we retreated to the Chantry. Roderick was dying, stabbed trying to talk to a Templar, and we were all going to die, but that strange boy gave us a way out.

All except for her. She stayed to save us.

"Perhaps you will surprise it—find a way."

She fumbles with a small pouch at her waist, draws a dagger and cuts it loose, shoving it at me.

"Take it," she says. "Go now."

What did I say to her? I don't remember now. We fired the flare when we passed the tree line and watched as the snow covered Haven. And we ran as far and as fast as we could, until we could not be followed because even we did not know where we were. Mages laid burning hands on frozen Templar armor, melting ice and staving off frostbite, keeping the train moving. Templars carried the mages who collapsed.

I stood at the edge of the camp, and watched, even though I knew she would not come.

That strange boy—Cole—approached.

"You know that she is gone, consumed in the collapse. But can't you faintly feel her? There in your pocket, something precious persists." He was gone, then.

I find the pouch she'd given me, forgotten in the moment. Reach in the bag: a piece of parchment, folded in four. Several drafts of the same letter, informing me she is going to Redcliffe. All rejected and crossed out: "too angry," "too apologetic," "too sad."

At the bottom, twice, like a meditation: "I am not a woman, I am a mage. I am a weapon. I am fire. I am the sharp edge of a blade."

Turn the paper over. There are two…drawings of me?

I stand at the war table, confident, hands on the pommel of my sword. In the other, I am by the gates at Haven, looking away. My hand is at the back of my neck. Is this when she left for Redcliffe? I fold the paper up, tuck it into my breastplate. It is near my heart, near the coin. There is no one to see.

Turn the pouch over. Six small rocks fall out, but something is left. Small bottle, no larger than my smallest finger. There is a label, but I do not need to read the tiny crabbed writing. It is full of blood.

It is her phylactery. I know just where she is.

* * *

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

I entered her tent the day after Cullen tracked her down in the snow. He had been sitting with her for a full day and night. I came in from time to time with tea, to check on her. He seemed to be spending the time writing, probably troop reports, plans. Anything to keep busy.

When I entered, he was next to her, head cradled in his arms on the blanket. Asleep.

"Cullen?" I said, and he sat upright with a start. "Cullen, you need to go to bed."

"Yes, I should," he said, rubbing his stubble, "Just sit with me for a moment?"

"Yes, of course." I pulled up a chair, and we sat for a minute, contemplating the Herald.

It was strange to see her so still. Asleep, drained from the cold, she was just a not-quite-young woman in her mid-thirties with her brown hair in a neat braid. Nobody special.

"She is…beautiful," Cullen said quietly.

"What?" I stood up immediately. He followed me up just a second later, swaying slightly and blushing a terrible mottled shade of red.

"Commander, I am going to pretend that I did not hear that, and you are going to bed immediately. That is an order. You are sleep-deprived and delirious. If the Herald's condition changes, I will notify you, but otherwise I do not expect to hear, see, or think about you for the next six hours. Go to bed."

"Yes, Seeker," he mumbled obediently, and stumbled through the flap. I peeked out to make sure he was headed in the right direction, and sat back down next to the Herald. Beside his chair was a piece of parchment. I picked it up, avoided reading what he had written, and folded it in half to return to him later, when he had regained his sanity.

The Herald is not a beautiful woman, but I suppose there is something special about her. When she is awake, she is dynamic. When she talks, people listen. When she moves, people watch her go by. It is hard to explain. Her eyes are sharp, and green. They are probably beautiful?

Maker, I must write all this down, but I have no good words. How can I explain how, when she awoke two days later, we were arguing?

And she emerged grouchily from her tent, like she was too stubborn for the grave? Mother Giselle led them, us, in a hymn, and the Inquisition knelt before her. She walked through the crowd, so alive, touching heads and shoulders.

She reached the edge of the camp, and stepped out into the snow, summoning tiny lights that flickered and danced like blue fireflies. Solas followed her, and as they spoke, we came back to life, and stood and stretched like we had been asleep for two days. She walked slowly back to her tent, pausing only in front of the Commander.

She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Cullen," she said, "We head north. Can the Inquisition be ready to travel tomorrow?"

"Yes, Herald," he replied. "The people are tired and it will take us a few hours to mobilize, but our present location is not secure. Since we must move, we will."

"Thank you, Commander. Oh, and Cullen?" she said, squeezing his shoulder encouragingly.

"Yes, Herald?"

"You look terrible. Get some sleep." She wound her way back to her tent, where she collapsed in a pile of blankets.


	11. Instead of a Kiss

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The Inquisition has been at Skyhold for three days. Troop rotations are set up, quarters are being arranged for all (including special mage facilities), and training will begin again in approximately a week.

I want very badly to sleep, but I do not know if I can, or will. My stomach is in revolt, and I dread the dreams which I know will arrive should I attempt to take to my bed. I have stashed my desk and belongings in what will soon be my office. While it is situated to be easily accessible to patrols on the battlements, I still find myself with a bit more privacy than my old tent at Haven—and a chest that locks securely.

The Herald, now the Inquisitor, has previously suggested that keeping a journal can potentially combat bad dreams. When she lay unconscious after Haven, I recorded my thoughts and feelings, and admittedly felt better for the effort. While I feel that what I wrote was overly self-indulgent (and I am glad that Cassandra returned it to me when I awoke, hopefully unread), perhaps it would be helpful to continue with something, although more appropriately disciplined.

To supervise the construction efforts, I have been working from a small table set up in the courtyard. Skyhold is a highly defensible structure, but it has been abandoned for some time. Many improvements must be made as soon as possible to repel any potential assault.

The Inquisitor came by mid-morning. She inquired about losses at Haven and the morale of the people. I was happy to inform her that morale has improved greatly since she accepted the position of Inquisitor. She has such an impact on people: before she spoke to me, she spent a moment with Scout Harding and some of the healers, and afterwards, they were all positively beaming.

I knew that she would come by, and I had already thought of subjects to address with her, and what I would say. I spoke with her about the preparations I am making, how Skyhold will be a place to stand, and about her new title. She inhabits the role well, and gracefully—Josephine must be pleased—but her personal interactions with me still feel strained. She paused for a moment before she departed, and said (I remember it distinctly):

"Thank you, Cullen. Our escape from Haven—it was close. I am relieved that you—that so many made it out."

"As am I," I said.

She turned to go, and I touched her arm. "You stayed behind," I said. "You could have…I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." She looked at me for a moment, then slipped away, headed in the direction of the stables.

I feel sick—sicker—when I think of how close we were to losing her. In the future, I will show more composure and professionalism when we speak. I was simply surprised that she called me by my name, and did not expect her to speak so personally to me, especially after the stupid things I said to her at Haven. I will be less impulsive in the future.

After preparations to Skyhold are complete, I know that I must speak with her about my decision to forego lyrium. It also occurs to me that I should return her phylactery, and discuss what should be done with it. I will plan what to say in advance, and make sure she knows that I respect her wishes, no matter what they may be.

* * *

_ From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

Last night, I dreamt of Kinloch Hold. I am kneeling, and reciting the Chant with my brothers as they are taken away, one by one. Finally, there are just two of us left. I turn to my last brother, and it is Samson. He whispers something to me that I cannot not hear, then Uldred's abominations drag him away. He screams for me to help him, but I do nothing.

Then, I am alone. I have dreamed this part so many times that I always know what will happen. The desire demon appears, her body uncovered. I want to look away, but I cannot. I manage to close my eyes, but she slithers through my mind.

"What is it that you want, my dearest? Most of all?"

I open my eyes, and Solona is there. She is just as beautiful as she always is, her hair just as red, her eyes so blue. She has changed her hair—it falls in a braid over her shoulder.

"Amell!" I cry, "We must leave this place!"

"What is your hurry, my dearest?" she asks, and begins to undo the front of her robes. She crosses through the barrier like it is not there, and kneels beside me. I yearn for her touch, I would do anything, I would kill…I know something is wrong, but I want this so badly…

As her lips approach mine, I close my eyes and cry out, "Demon, begone! You cannot tempt me!"

Instead of a kiss, it grabs me and sinks its teeth deep into my neck, its claws raking down my arms.

I awake, covered in cold sweat.

My nightmares are getting more frequent along with the withdrawal symptoms. I was initially skeptical of this "dream journal" that Inquisitor Trevelyan suggested I keep, as I have always attempted to forget my dreams afterwards. After several weeks, however, I have been able to identify some patterns in my dreams. As they happen, they feel more familiar, and I am also able to identify some changes.

I do not quite know what to do with this. Why was Samson there? Why was Amell wearing her hair differently? Why did I even notice that?

* * *

_ From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The Inquisitor came by today, per my request.

When she came in, I was bent over the box at my desk. Nervous, didn't want to look her in the eye.

First, I returned her phylactery.

"Oh, this," she said, and tucked it into a pouch at her belt. "I suppose I will have to figure out what to do with it again. Was there something else you wished to discuss?"

I told her about the lyrium.

"You stopped?"

"Since I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now."

"Cullen, I don't know anything about lyrium withdrawal. Can this kill you?"

"It hasn't yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't…I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it."

I told her that I have asked Cassandra to watch me, and relieve me of duty if I can no longer serve.

"Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen…I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."

She stood looking at me for a moment, hands on hips. I could practically hear her flipping through her mental inventory of magical knowledge, searching for something.

"Hm," she said. "Do you mind if I try something?"

"I would rather not—"

"Nothing magic, I promise."

"Very well...what are you—"

She walked towards me, around the edge of my desk. I had to stop myself from backing up as she approached. She drew close, stopping a mere foot away from me, and extended her hand to hover inches over my breastplate, near my heart. When she stood so near, I could feel the slight tingle of her magic, and caught the smell of an herb on her hands. She glanced up at me, and must have seen that I was blushing terribly, because she quickly stepped back.

"I'm sorry, Commander. I did not mean to make you nervous."

"I…it is nothing. What were you doing?"

She leaned on the edge of my desk, arms crossed, still disconcertingly close. "Cole talks about magic and lyrium, and he says he hears a 'singing.' When I stand close to you, the magic in my body and the lyrium in your blood resonate with each other. Like calls to like. I have encountered this before, but you are less 'sharp' than other Templars. I don't know what it means, exactly, but the lyrium is either passing out of your system or it has grown…quieter."

She looked up at me. Her eyes were very large and very green.

"You feel…different," she said, and extended a hand to touch my face.

I stepped back, then, and cleared my throat. She dropped her hand.

"Ah," she said. "I have made you uncomfortable after all. My apologies." She stood and moved to the other side of the desk. "Thank you for telling me about this, Commander. I respect what you are doing and I hope you will let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you. Now, you wanted to speak to me about Samson and the Red Templars?"

I told her what we have discovered about the red lyrium smugglers, and she promised to investigate the matter soon. She asked me a few questions about my personal connection to Samson, assured me that she would make the time to investigate, and left.

And so I have spent all day and evening struggling to not think impure thoughts about the Inquisitor. Part of me is glad that she is leaving tomorrow, but while she is gone I know will wait for her letters. I must work to get this under control. This attachment is inappropriate and impossible. I want so much to be free from the Gallows, but it seems that life will continue to follow me and taint everything it touches.


	12. Something Over and Done With

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

We have arrived in Crestwood. The town feels as if it is festering from old wounds left over from the Blight. When I arrived, the gates were being attacked by undead, and the town's mayor tells me I will need to close the dam that flooded Old Crestwood in order to be able to access the fade rift and close it.

To accomplish this, I will need to approach a group of bandits calling themselves the Highwaymen, who have fortified themselves in Caer Bronach. I wager they will not give their keep over to the Inquisition peacefully. We will scout the location tomorrow.

My main goal, however, is to meet up with Hawke's Warden contact to attempt to get word on the Grey Wardens. On my way to Crestwood, I encountered two Wardens who appear to be searching for our contact as well. The situation is suspicious.

On a more personal note, thank you for telling me about your desire to break away from the lyrium. Please allow me to reiterate that I respect what you are doing, and I hope you will tell me if you need anything at all. Take care of yourself.

I also appreciate the return of my phylactery. I must think about what to do with it in the future.

It has been a long time since I have written you a letter, hasn't it? I would not have thought that I would miss Skyhold, but I do.

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a drawing of a wheel of cheese that appears to have been adapted into a shield.]_

* * *

_ From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

I am at Skyhold, but the main keep has been replaced by the Gallows. A line of mages kneels in front of Knight-Commander Meredith to be judged. I know this dream, know how it ends. She kills them all, one by one, as I watch. I step in front of the last mage, my sword drawn.

"Knight-Commander, stand down!" Every time, I say the same thing.

"Blessed are those who stand against the corrupt and wicked and do not falter!" she shrieks, and plunges her red lyrium blade into my heart.

But it does not happen this time. "Out of the way, Knight-Captain…" says the mage at my feet, and I am shoved to the side by the Inquisitor.

She has taken the blade meant for me. We are alone, back in the Frostbacks outside Haven, and it is snowing. She is freezing. I don't know how she made it this far from Haven, but I thank the Maker that she still lives, that she gave me her phylactery. I know just where she is.

I kneel and pick her up. There is blood everywhere.

I want to say something to her, but what comes out is, "Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me. They are weapons. They have the power to light a city on fire in a fit of pique."

She speaks, calmly: "I am not a woman, I am a mage. I am a weapon. I am fire." She reaches up and touches the scar on my face. "I am the sharp edge of a blade."

I awake.

Varric tells me that Hawke is here. I remember saying those words to her, once, before I knew she was an apostate. I have thus far avoided her, but perhaps we should meet. I want very much to prove to her, to myself, to…others, that I am not the man I was in Kirkwall, but can such things truly be left behind?

Part of me wishes I could speak to the Inquisitor about this, but the idea of sharing these dreams with her is…I cannot. I have already revealed so much weakness to her. This is not what I want for her to think of me.

* * *

_ A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

This letter is to accompany Jana, a new agent of the Inquisition. I have recruited her from Crestwood.

Caer Bronach is now under the protection of the Inquisition, and the dam is open. Cassandra agrees with me that the keep could potentially be a good long-term holding for the Inquisition. There was a rift nearby, but I closed it. This business of holding a castle is not my area of expertise, however. I trust I can leave the arrangements in your hands?

Tomorrow: the Warden. I believe he is hiding in a former smugglers' den nearby.

Evelyn

_[After the letter is a drawing of Caer Bronach, with approximate dimensions provided.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Inquisitor:

Based on your information, and reports from a contact of Leliana's in the area, I have made arrangements for us to set up a more long-term presence at Caer Bronach. Troops and supplies are on their way.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_ A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

We will set out tomorrow for Skyhold. The Warden, Alistair, will accompany us. He has provided us with extensive intelligence on the situation with Corypheus and the Grey Wardens, and I want everyone on the War Council to hear it.

Your support has arrived at Caer Bronach and I think they can take it from here.

It's going to be a long trip back.

Evelyn

_[In the corner of the letter is a quick sketch of Cole's hat.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Inquisitor:

I hope your journey is progressing well.

Word has reached Skyhold, courtesy of one of Leliana's contacts, that the leader of the Inquisition killed a High Dragon, specifically a Northern Hunter.

Apparently you are not reading the portion of my letters where I write things like, "Be safe."

Cullen

* * *

_ A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I always read all of the letters you send me.

If you are upset that I fought the dragon, please understand that it was an informed decision. I talked to area residents about the creature's feeding patterns, and observed the territory it frequented, and concluded that a confrontation with the residents of the Caer Bronach or Crestwood would occur within the next several weeks. A large loss of life would result, which would be especially unfortunate after we had already worked so hard to make the keep viable. I selected the most advantageous battlefield and prepared myself and my party quite thoroughly before engaging the creature. I even brought Cassandra!

I am sorry that I did not tell you initially. I felt that you already had too many things to worry about, without...fussing about something that was already over and done with.

For what it is worth, I have already paid a great price for my actions. I think Iron Bull was so…stimulated by the fight with the dragon that he apparently showed up in Cassandra's tent wearing very little. When she respectfully passed (I believe she threw a gauntlet at him), he stopped by to see me.

"Hey, uh, Boss? You interested in…?"

"No."

"Okay, well, just checkin'. I'll go take care of this myself, then."

And while we are chastising each other for not reading letters thoroughly, you might observe that my name is

Evelyn

And is not "Inquisitor."

_[Attached to the letter is a map of Crestwood. It is covered in tiny notes: sightings accompanied by names and dates, locations of recorded attacks, spoor, and potential nesting sites.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

I do not "fuss."

Cullen


	13. Like Calls to Like

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

Staying at Skyhold to rest, take care of administrative tasks, prepare for journey to the Western Approach.

Construction has begun on a tower for the mages. Decent library, laboratory space, large quarters with actual privacy.

I have visited the garden every day this week, tending to some elfroot. Soothing work, encourages patience, long-term thinking. Apparently the Commander and Dorian have set up regular midweek chess meetings in the garden while we are at Skyhold. After handily defeating Dorian, Cullen challenged me to a game. He called me "Inquisitor" through the whole thing, of course. Probably didn't read my letter.

And so we played chess there in the sun, and talked like we were normal people. He told me about his family in Ferelden, how he'd learned to play. I didn't feel like a mage, he didn't feel like a…not-quite-a-Templar.

"This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters. To be honest," he said, "I appreciate the distraction."

"We should spend more time together," I said. Testing.

"I would…like that." He sounded surprised.

"Me too." I moved my piece.

"You said that," he said softly. We looked at each other for a long moment, then he said, "We should…finish our game, right? My turn."

I won, and it wasn't until he'd headed off to his mountain of paperwork that I realized that, by the end of our game, I had forgotten entirely about the mage and the not-Templar. I'd just allowed myself to be a woman spending time with the man I care for.

But I am not a woman, I am a mage. I thought perhaps that I had made my feelings known, and I have seen the way he shies away from me.

I do not think he wants a mage.

However, how do I know this assumption to be true? I have observed evidence, both during this game and previously, which may indicate otherwise. Did I actually "make my feelings known?" I cannot rely on feeling and instinct in subjects about which I am ignorant, and if I am honest with myself, I know little of matters of the heart.

I will make a plan.

While we wait for preparations to complete in order to depart for the Western Approach, I will attend to Dorian's family matters in Redcliffe. I will complete any other Inquisition business, and then, before we leave, I will go and talk to Cullen. It will be humiliating, but then I will know.

* * *

_ From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

In my dream, I am back at Kinloch Hold again. The desire demon is there, so beautiful, raking through my most secret, impure wishes.

"What is it that you want, my dearest? Most of all?"

I open my eyes, and Solona is there. Still so beautiful, red hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. Standing beside her is Evelyn—not the Herald or the Inquisitor, just Evelyn. In the world of my dream, I know that I desired her once, but compared to Solona, she is nothing but a small brown bird.

They cross the barrier together and Evelyn casts me the sharp look that I remember from our game, sizing me up, and then…we are seated at the chess table in the gardens. Solona—actually the demon, I see it clearly now—paces around the table like a cat.

Evelyn looks up, asks, "You have siblings?" Her voice is quieter here, where she is not the Inquisitor. Eyes a greyish-green, hair over her shoulder in a neat braid. A streak of dirt on her arm from digging elfroot. She has been coming here every morning; I've seen her from the battlements.

The demon walks by, an angry snarl on her face, her robe half-undone and her bosom exposed. I barely notice. I feel happy and relaxed, sitting in the sun with a pretty girl who is my equal at chess.

"We should...finish our game, right? My turn." I wonder what it would be like to move her hair to the side and kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. I realize I am going to lose this game of chess, and I don't care.

The demon rounds the table, grabs Evelyn by the shoulder, and jerks a knife across her throat. I leap up, but I am not fast enough. Her blood sprays onto the chessboard.

"What is it you want, my dearest?" the demon hisses.

I awake.

Barely made it through today. I wish Evelyn were back, but I do not want her to see me like this. The pain is terrible, and I cannot stop shaking. But so much remains to be done and I must push through

* * *

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

We have returned to Skyhold after two weeks in Ferelden, attending to Inquisition business. Preparations have finished and we should leave tomorrow for the Western Approach.

Unfortunately, while we were gone, Cullen appears to have reached a breaking point. Earlier today, he came to me and demanded that I replace him as leader of the Inquisition's forces. I refused. We argued.

He stopped only when the Inquisitor entered, then he just...walked out.

As he passed, he said, "Forgive me," to her, quietly.

"And people say I'm stubborn. This is ridiculous," I said. "Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It's not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far."

"Why didn't he come to me?" she asked.

"We had an agreement long before you joined us. As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn't want to…risk your disappointment." Let her chew on that for a while.

"If anyone could change his mind, it's you," I told her. "Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break to that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who might follow suit—that it's possible. He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time."

And so she went to see Cullen.

I hold no real hope in my life for a great romance of my own. Perhaps in another life, another world, there is a man who sweeps me off my feet. We dance at a ball at a grand palace, we fight back-to-back through hordes of Darkspawn. He reads me poetry. But that man is not here, in this world. I think my life must be meant for other things, and I am content with that, truly. But I am worried about my friend.

I had thought perhaps that she and Cullen were courting, but something seems to be holding her back. Maybe we will talk on the way to the Western Approach. Yes, we are at war, the world hangs in the balance, and I think many (including Varric) would deem me the least unromantic person on Thedas, but what else are we fighting for, but to protect those we love?

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

Two days ago I had my worst episode yet. I was in such terrible pain, sweating, dizzy, delirious…how many days straight had I been working? I...tried to convince Cassandra to appoint a replacement to lead the Inquisition's army, but she would not listen. When the Inquisitor entered, I had to leave. I did not want her to see me in that condition.

I stormed upstairs to my office, and threw my lyrium box across the room. It shattered against the doorframe, and almost hit the Inquisitor in the face. She had followed me.

When she tried to talk to me, tried to help, everything that was broken and damaged just poured out of me, right in front of her.

I told her of my torture at Ferelden's circle.

Meredith's madness and the Circle's fall. About how so many innocent people died. About being tied to that life, forever, about trying to break away.

I was so angry, I told her it all, my terrible secrets. I think I struck a wall? I remember now, I said, "I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!"

Then she was close, so close. The servants at Skyhold pack her clothing in lavender.

"This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what you want?" she asked me.

"No," I said, "but these memories have always haunted me—if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…"

She reached out and put her hand on my breastplate, over my heart. I could feel her magic humming, there in my chest. Feel it in my bones, my teeth. Like calls to like, she'd said.

"You can," she declared.

"All right," I said, and I believed her.

The rest of the day is a blur. She somehow got me up the ladder to my bed and took off most of my armor—I remember her calling me a "damned turtle" before I drifted off. The dreams were not as terrible as they have been, and, thank the Maker, I can barely remember them. Perhaps it was the foul-tasting tea she gave me. Now that I am writing this, though, I remember vomiting most of it up immediately afterwards. Another tiny piece to add to a mountain of humiliation. But I did sleep.

I remember, I dreamed that…I picked her dying body up, out of the snowbank near Haven. Snowflakes clustered on her eyelashes, ice in her braid—by the Maker, was I too late? But she was warm and soft, and said, "Oh, hey," sleepily, then, "put me down!" so I put her back down on the snow and curled myself around her warmth and fell back into darkness.

When I awoke, I was lying in a pile of blankets on the floor, and she had left me a letter.

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Dear Cullen:

I must leave for the Western Approach, and I think you need your sleep more than I need to say goodbye.

I have informed Ser Rylen and the servants and anyone else who needs to know that you have food poisoning and are to be left alone for the day. There is food downstairs in your office, and someone should bring you some toast at some point, which you are to eat, I mean it.

You are not replaced as the Commander of the Inquisition's army. If you want to petition Cassandra again, you are welcome to, but I have taken her away with me so you will have to wait until I return.

I have also taken the liberty of cleaning all of the lyrium off of your desk. A person going through lyrium withdrawal should not be keeping seven or eight philters of that poison lying around. You are a grown man, so I did not search the rest of your possessions to see if you have any more, but if you do, I want you to get rid of them. If you find that you can't do it by yourself, we will do it together when I get back.

Cullen, I am sorry I cannot be there to take care of you. Here is a list of things I want you to do while I am gone:

1) Eat three meals a day even if they are small.

2) Try to get at least six hours of sleep a night, preferably eight.

3) Take breaks from work and play chess with Leliana.

I am very worried about you, and feel terrible that I must leave. Please forgive me, both for leaving and for this bossy letter.

I hope that it helped to share a little bit of your burden with someone else. I am honored that it could be me.

Please, Cullen, take care of yourself. I cannot do this without you. If you need me to return, you can send a letter for me to Val Royeaux, where we are stopping on our way west.

Yours always,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter, there is a simple line drawing of a plate with bread, cheese, and an apple on it. Below it is written, "If you are awake and reading this letter, go downstairs and EAT."]_


	14. A Cat and a Mabari

**A Note from the Author:**

I added some rating information and made an addition to **Chapter 1: The Right Tool for the Right Job**. Feel free to go back and take a look if you'd like.

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Evelyn:

I hope this letter manages to reach you in Val Royeaux.

Thank you for supporting me when I was weak. I am ashamed that you had to see me like that. I have at least been attempting to follow your to-do list, and have begun to feel better since my bout with food poisoning.

I know that you passed the lyrium vials on to Ser Rylan, but can you tell me what happened to the box? It was probably broken after it hit the door, but none of the maids remember cleaning it up, and it was gone when I awoke. I am hoping that perhaps you took it away with you for some reason? I don't want the lyrium back, just the box. It is…very precious to me.

Cullen

* * *

_ A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

Yes, I took the box with me. I'm sorry—you saw me gather it up but you must have been delirious. I hope you weren't too worried. Honestly, it was mostly shattered. I have dropped it off with a woodworker here in Val Royeaux that Vivienne says is "la meilleur" to see if he can fix it, but if you don't want it repaired, I will attach his address and he can send it back to you.

You have nothing to be ashamed of. Friends support each other, even if they are a cat and a mabari, yes?

I am told that the Western Approach is inhospitable, and it may be difficult for me to write regularly. We are travelling fast and light, and our change of horses is ready so I must go. Take care of yourself.

Evelyn

* * *

_ From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

We had spent several weeks exploring the Western Approach when I asked Evelyn to join me in my tent after we ate. I had heard how cold the nights here could be, but I am still surprised by how quickly the heat leaves the land. Thankfully our tents at the main campsites tend to be more spacious, so there was room for both of us to sit and talk after she drug her camp chair inside.

"So, Cassandra, what did you need?" She searched through her knapsack and pulled out two extremely stale cookies that I recognized from our rations. "Do you want one of these? I can warm it up," she offered. She waved her hand over the cookies, causing them to steam a little, then tasted one.

"Well, now they are stale and warm, which I think is an improvement."

"Inquisitor, I wanted to speak to you about the situation with Commander Cullen," I began.

"Of course," she replied, taking another bite out of her cookie. "I should have discussed this with you earlier. I think that as long as he does not overextend himself again, he should hopefully be able to cope with the withdrawal symptoms. Long term, of course, no real studies have been done, but if anyone is able to quit lyrium, it will be Cullen."

"Yes, I know, but that wasn't really want I wanted to talk to you about." I paused, and picked up the other cookie. "I was under the impression that you might be…courting?"

"Courting!" she raised her eyebrows and smiled. "I'm not even sure how I would go about doing such a thing!"

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor, I did not mean to pry, I was just…"

"No, Cassandra, I mean it. I really have no idea how I would go about courting someone. I don't really have any experience with," and she waved her cookie around in a vaguely human-shaped gesture, "men."

"You don't have any experience with…"

"No, not really. I mean, I know how things work and I've certainly read my share of filthy books, but consider it." She started to count off on her fingers. "First off, when I was young, I had a fairly frightening experience wherein I almost died, all because I expressed such emotions. Second, mages cannot get married or keep any children they produce. While that does not preclude such relationships from developing in the Circle, they can often be highly traumatic and are frequently the precursor to possession or use of blood magic. Third, I did not want a love affair conducted primarily in closets and alcoves and shadows."

"So did you never want…someone?" It was an odd thing to hear about a mage, but then again, perhaps it's just the books I read that give me a different sort of impression about what goes on in Circles.

"Of course I did! Maker knows, mages have enough opportunity and time on their hands. But it was never good enough, never worth the personal risk, never worth the effort. I threw myself into my work; it was extremely important. I was saving lives, and I didn't need the distraction." She cocked her head and me, and added, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I feel that of anyone I know, you would understand, Cassandra."

I sighed. She was not wrong. "Yes, I suppose I do. But after the Ostwick Circle disbanded, you might have met someone."

She patted herself as if looking for something, then reached into a small pouch and pulled out a tiny vial. It was filled with a red substance and was glowing slightly.

"Your phylactery?" I asked, surprised.

She placed it on the table. "When I was young, I fell in love with a Templar. I wrote him a love letter. I was punished, as you know, but there is more to the story. He was transferred to another Circle—I believe he went to Starkhaven. Years passed, and he came back to the Ostwick Circle."

"Were you still in love with him?" I asked.

"No, I was firmly ensconced in my work by that point, and was fully aware of what the ramifications of an affair might be. But he was very nice in that distant Templar sort of way. He was supportive of my research, and when my name was put forward to accompany the Templar hunters, he volunteered to testify that our relationship had been nothing but professional since his return. I appreciated that."

"The Circles did not all fall at the same time," she continued, "and some of them, like Ostwick, peacefully disbanded rather than become part of the Mage-Templar conflict. And that is how I left the Circle: part of a group of about twenty mages and maybe seven or eight Templars, ones who still wanted to protect us. He was among them. We traveled for a time, but the Templars' supply of lyrium began to run low, and they had to make plans to leave."

She sighed.

"The night before they departed, this Templar came into my tent and told me that he loved me. He said he'd always loved me and always would. A contact of his at Starkhaven had been able to uncover my phylactery, and he wanted to return it to me so he would know that I would always be free."

I gasped, "What did you do?"

She broke into an enormous smile. "Cassandra! I had no idea you were such a romantic!"

"Tell the story, Inquisitor," I snapped. "What then?"

"Well, I nearly burst into tears. It was terribly romantic, after all. Moonlit night by a lake, long lost love finally returned, that sort of thing. I knew I would probably never see him again. And so I asked him to spend the night with me, no Circles, no Templars, just a man and a woman, before he left."

"What happened?"

She rolled her eyes at the phylactery.

"The son-of-a-bitch said no. He'd taken a vow of celibacy before the Maker, and he could not break it, not even for me. He seemed shocked that I'd even asked," she sighed. "Templars can be such assholes."

Evelyn looked at me out of the side of her eye, and smirked, and Andraste preserve me, but we both started to laugh. After a moment or two, she wiped her eyes and continued.

"Anyway, even if I did know how to court someone, I worry that Cullen would not be interested. I care deeply for him, but…I am a mage, and he does not seem to trust mages, and that is perhaps the end of it."

I leaned forward in my chair.

"Evelyn, I have known Cullen for longer than you have, and I can tell you that he trusts you. You, as a mage, and you as a person, and I think that he cares for you as a woman. He watches you when you are not looking, and his eyes are so sad. He has not told even me of some of the pain he experienced in his life, but based on what happened in Kirkwall, I would wager he thinks he's not good enough for you, that he is too damaged."

She paused for a long minute, thinking.

"Truly?" she asked. "I…"

"Truly." I said.

"I have been thinking about…reevaluating the situation. Gathering more information," she said. Maker, sometimes it is strange to watch this woman's brain work. "I don't know anything about courting, and I don't really know anything about men."

She spread her hands. "I was going to…speak to him about it before we left Skyhold, but I was so nervous that I left it until the last minute. Then, when I finally worked up the courage, well, you were there. It was not the time. Do you think that just…asking him if he might care for me is so terrible an idea?"

"I do not think any advice I could provide is particularly useful," I sighed. "The last—and only, I might note—man I was ever with told me I was beautiful after I killed a dragon."

"Well," she laughed, "based on Iron Bull's response to our dragon encounter, you might have something there. Cullen got angry when he found out I killed it, though. Maybe I need to listen to Josephine and have the skull brought to Skyhold. I'll tell her to leave it in his bed. What could go wrong?"

"Maker's breath, I would pay money to see that!" I chuckled.

She bent down and rummaged through her knapsack. "Now. I have half a bottle of something-or-other in here. Let's drink it, and I'll tell you how I think we're going to get into Griffon Wing Keep. You're going to hate it."

* * *

_ A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I hope this letter finds you well.

In our search for the Wardens, we have reclaimed a large, defensible keep from the Venatori, and I think that it could potentially be a good hub for Inquisition forces in western Orlais. I am enclosing the specifics on the fortress so you can decide what to do. I will use the keep as a base for my continued search for the Wardens. No news there, yet, but we will be going out again tomorrow.

You will note the cave outside the keep, marked "Cave into Horribly Disgusting Well" on the map, as it was a vulnerable point in the keep's defense. The Venatori had a magical barrier over the door, which I was able to remove easily. Tevinter mages always make things more complicated than they need to be. I replaced it with a large rock. Harder to move.

Something must still be done about the water in the well; however, I am not sure how to do this other than removing the corpses. Did I mention this well is horribly disgusting? You can use your imagination as to how I discovered it.

Griffon Wing could probably not withstand an extended assault without a fresh source of water. There is a spring nearby that I am going to look into on my way back out tomorrow. I will use the keep as my base of operations for now, so messengers can deliver me letters here if necessary. As pleasant as it would be to hear from you, however, be judicious with your correspondence. The trip across the Western Approach is dangerous, and I would not want to lose a messenger to the desert.

So dry here, so much sand. I almost—almost—miss the bog.

Please take care of yourself. The Inquisition needs you, but your duty does not preclude sleeping and eating.

Did you know that Dorian cheats terribly at chess? I think he must miss your regular games, as he asked me to play with him despite not being as "delicious" an opponent as yourself. He also told me that it is "alluring" when a woman allows a man to beat her at chess. Obviously, I trounced him.

Yours truly,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a carefully drawn rendering of a varghest drinking from an oasis in the Western Approach]_


	15. Anything More

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The Inquisitor's party sent word ahead for us to meet in the War Room upon their arrival. We now know the source of Corypheus' demon army, and we have a target: Adamant Fortress.

We have been in constant preparation for a week now, and I am attempting to not exhaust myself. Ser Rylan will be taking over at Griffin Wing Keep, and while I regret losing him at Skyhold, he has also been able to take the lead on some of the logistics involving our march to Adamant.

Evelyn is working to coordinate with the mages, and I have barely seen her over the past week. Last night, though, she sent me a note, asking me to meet her on the battlements this morning at dawn. Alone.

So I went, not knowing what to expect, and arrived early enough to watch the sun begin to rise over the Frostbacks. I stood there for a few minutes, breathing the morning air, just existing with the birds and the mountains and the snow.

I heard her steps as she climbed the battlements. I turned. My feeling of peace vanished, along with everything I meant to say.

"I wanted to thank you…when you came to see me…if there's anything…"

I sighed, rubbed the back of my neck. "This sounded much better in my head."

"I trust you're feeling better?" She spoke softly.

"I…yes."

"Is it always that bad?"

"The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel like I'm still back there. I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

"I'm just glad you're all right," she smiled.

"I am," I said, feeling a bit surprised at the truth of the statement. "I've never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was…not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start."

"For what it's worth," she offered gently, "I like who you are now."

"Even after…?"

"Cullen, I care about you. You've done nothing to change that." She shifted her weight and was somehow not meeting my eyes anymore, and I noticed she was holding a small bag. "Oh, this! I brought you something." She shoved it awkwardly in my direction, as if to distract from her admission that she…cared about me?

"I…thank you." I unwrapped the covering to reveal a lyrium box. If mine had been repaired, there was little of it left, for this was an object of beauty, and the old one was…not.

The previous box in which I had stored my philter was strictly utilitarian, provided to me when I first became a Templar. I had kept it not out of any sense of nostalgia, but simply because the equipment needed a storage place. The wood was old and dry, full of splinters, and the somber face of the Templar inlaid inside the lid did not inspire, but merely reminded me of the inevitable loss of myself I would experience one day.

This was beautiful, the wood luminous, but was it missing the most important piece?

Holding my breath, I felt around on the bottom of the box for a small seam, which popped open a hidden compartment. I pried it open just a bit, but when I looked inside, I could see the small scraps of torn paper, and knew that it was all right.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it's not the original box. The woodworker said it was best to replace the whole thing. He said you had some private papers stored in there, too, but Vivienne says that part of what I paid for was discretion, so I don't think he looked at what it was, he just moved everything over. I…didn't look either, obviously. I have the old box if you want it, if you don't like this one. But first—open it?"

Set in a dark red wood on the interior of the lid was the symbol of the Inquisition, the combined All-Seeing Eye and the Blade of Mercy, made of something that looked a bit like ivory.

All of my original equipment was still there in the box, nestled in soft velvet, but in place of the philter of lyrium was a small, familiar glowing bottle. She took a deep breath.

"It's sylvanwood and dragonbone. From the dragon in Crestwood. And…that's obviously my phylactery. I wanted you to have it so that if things get bad again and I'm not here, you will know where I am and—and that I know you can do this."

I was speechless.

"I—this is—"

"Just—Cullen, I care for you, and…" she sighed. "You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?"

"I could—I mean, I do. Think of you. And what I might say in this situation." I rubbed the side of my face, trying to stall until words came, but they never did, and she stood there, looking terribly beautiful—and supremely unhappy—in the morning sun.

"What's stopping you?" she asked after a moment, giving me that sharp look I remembered from our game of chess. Trying to discern the opponent's motivation. She really didn't know?

"You're the Inquisitor. We're at war. And you…I didn't think it was possible." I rewapped the box, and placed it down on the walkway, and stepped closer to her. My heart was beating so fast and hard that I wondered if she could hear or…feel it.

"And yet I'm still here." She leaned up against the parapet, and I closed the space between us further. I could feel her magic softly vibrating in my bones, and I could smell the lavender on her clothing.

"So you are…it seems too much to ask." I leaned in, put my hand on her waist—Maker's breath, I could remember every time we had ever touched, it was so rare—"But I want to—"

"Commander!" The messenger emerged from my office, gazing down at his missive. "You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report."

Evelyn bowed her head in embarrassment, and I moved my hand off of her waist and turned around.

"WHAT." Months of frustration, worry, and every other emotion I can think of came out in that word. I had been so close, she had let me touch her and then—

"Sister Leliana's report. You wanted delivered 'without delay.'" He looked up from the report, confused. Looked at me, looked at the Inquisitor. I glowered at him. "Or…to your office…right!" He backed up cautiously, then turned and shuffled into my office, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there for a moment, watching him leave, attempting to pull myself together. Behind me, I heard her sigh.

"If you need to—"

I closed the distance between us in a step, pulled her against me, and kissed her, hard. Our teeth clicked together and I tasted blood, and she made a surprised noise. It was a terrible kiss, and I was about to pull away and apologize and possibly die when she wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me closer, as close as my armor would allow, and made a small humming noise in her throat. And what started out hard and sudden turned soft and hot. I moved my hand up from the back of her neck and buried it in her hair, hating that I wore gloves, and she smiled into the kiss and…I pulled back for a moment to look at her.

I managed to get out, "I'm sorry…that was…um…really nice." Her face was still so close to mine and her eyes were very green in the morning sun.

"That…was what I wanted." Her face lit up, and she just...beamed with satisfaction.

"Oh. Good."

And then she reached up, put her hand on the back of my neck, and pulled me down into another kiss. At least three soldiers walked by us, my toes were freezing in the early morning chill, and I cannot remember the last time I was so incredibly happy.


	16. Success!

_A note, delivered by an Inquisition messenger to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

Still want to have dinner with me?

Evelyn

* * *

_In reply:_

Inquisitor:

Unfortunately, I must continue to work on our preparations for the assault on Adamant Fortress. I'll just have something in my office later.

Cullen

* * *

_Another reply, sent immediately after:_

Evelyn:

I'm sorry, that was not what I meant to say. Or, rather, how I meant to say it. Come by this evening, instead? I can't promise you much time but I would like to see you.

Cullen

* * *

_ From Enchanter Trevelyan's personal journal:_

Success! Gave Cullen the box with phylactery and he liked it.

I asked him if he might be able to see me as more than just a mage, and he said yes! And then he kissed me—quite assertively, I might note.

This lasted until probably the fourth or fifth soldier walked by on patrol, and then I think he realized where, exactly, we were. I swear, that man blushed so hard that he would have caught on fire if he'd been a mage.

Such a strange man: he seems so confident, except when it comes to personal matters with me, when he turns into a stuttering mess. And then he is confident again! And then he isn't.

I told him I had to go to a meeting with Josephine, but that perhaps we could have dinner together, and he said yes and staggered back into his office.

I have spent the entire day feeling insufferably happy and smug. He is ridiculously handsome. Additionally, and probably more importantly, he is an honorable man and would not involve himself with me if he were not reasonably sure of his affection. Finally, when given a little assurance, he was willing to become quite decisive. This bodes well, for I have no idea what to do next! Especially because, with the apparent exception of Cassandra, I seem to have assembled a crew of dangerous people from whom I would never ask advice about my love life.

He sent me two notes—one stuffy, one sweet—telling me he could not come to dinner (stuffy) and asking me to stop by later (sweet). So I gathered up some food on a tray and two of those little pies I like from the kitchen and took them over to his office a little before midnight. Light was still coming out from under the door, so I went in.

He was sitting at his desk, head propped up on one hand, writing a letter. When I walked in, he looked up and smiled a heartbreakingly tired smile at me. So absurdly handsome.

"I hoped you'd stop by," he said.

"Well, here I am," I said, and kicked the door shut behind me. "Since a certain inconsiderate person made you get up at dawn this morning, I thought the least I could do was bring you some food." His desk was covered with pieces of parchment: troop counts, schematics for war machines, supply lists, and who knows what else. I pushed some of the papers into a haphazard stack and balanced the tray near the edge.

I glanced up at him and he was staring at me with a strange expression on his face. I started feeling a lot less secure, wondering if I should start worrying about those things I had merrily dismissed as immaterial that morning.

"Well. I'll just leave this here then and go so you can—"

He looked alarmed. "No! I mean, no, please stay. I…wanted to see you."

I leaned uncertainly on the side of his desk. He reached across, took my hand, and threaded our fingers together.

He cleared his throat. "Hello," he said.

I smiled at him, feeling better.

I reclaimed my hand and pushed the tray towards him. "Eat," I ordered, and he complied. I began to slice up an apple to keep my hands busy.

"I am sorry that I must remain in my office, but I need to be accessible to the troops if anyone has an urgent request," he said, tearing off a piece of bread. "I apologize for the lack of privacy. You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads in the barracks."

"Does it bother you?"

"I would rather my—our—private affairs remain that way…but if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more."

"Well, that is a relief," I smiled.

"How have you spent your day?" he asked around a piece of apple.

I grabbed a chair, pulled it next to him, and sat down.

"I am starting to think about investigating the trade caravans you mentioned in the Emerald Graves. Marching our forces—"

The door to the left opened, and a messenger bearing a missive walked in, saluted Cullen, looked at me, and started to back out, a mortified expression on his face.

"Oh, by all the—" Cullen stood up. "You need me to initial the report, Hadley, so hand it over. Inquisitor, please continue."

"Right," I said, "so marching our army all the way across Orlais to get to Adamant is going to take many weeks, and instead of accompanying our forces directly west, I could instead head south to the Dales, and investigate the caravans you think are linked to the red lyrium shipments. If all goes well, I should be able to meet you in the Western Approach with time to spare."

He glanced at the parchment, scribbled something, and handed it back. "Thank you, Hadley. Dismissed." The messenger saluted and seemed grateful to make his exit.

"Beyond that, Dagna is working on finishing up a new set of armor created by my specifications, and I spent a fair portion of the day working with Josephine on diplomatic matters. The Inquisition has a number of noble supporters who need to have their egos massaged from time to time, or they get restive."

He sat back down next to me, picked up my hand again, and rolled his eyes.

"You don't have much patience for the nobility. I'm glad my title didn't scare you off," I teased.

"I hadn't considered…" he seemed vaguely alarmed. "I have no title outside the Inquisition. I hope that doesn't…I mean, does it bother you?"

"Goodness, no!" I laughed. "I haven't had contact with my family since I was taken away from the Circle. They had no use for me, so I have very little use for them."

He laughed, then looked away. "Right….I'm not very good at this, am I? If I seem unsure, it's because it's been a long time since I wanted anyone in my life. I wasn't expecting to find that here—or you."

"It's been a bit of a surprise for me, too," I confided, squeezing his hand. "I had begun to assume that I was not the sort of person who would find someone…special. It may have taken me a long time to get my head around it. Speaking of which, Commander of the Inquisition, I have a question for you."

"Ask me anything you'd like, Herald of Andraste." Maker, that man is disconcertingly handsome when he smiles.

"This morning, when you kissed me on the battlements—how long had you wanted to do that?"

"Longer than I should admit," he chuckled, then paused. "I would like to…can I show you something?"

"Yes, of course, anything."

He pulled his hand away, and reached for something on his desk.

"When I told you before that my old lyrium box was precious to me, it was not because of the box, but because of what was inside." The new box now sat on his desk, on top of a pile of papers. He fiddled with the bottom a bit, and the concealed compartment he'd shown me before opened. He cleared a space on the desk in front of him, and emptied the contents of the box onto it. A number of small pieces of folded-up paper fell out.

I took one, and opened it.

"Oh," I said. "Oh."

"I just…I wanted you to know that whatever happens, that you are very important to me, and have been for…for some time." He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

It was a small sketch of a Dawn Lotus flower, which had been torn from a larger piece of paper.

I opened another: a drawing of Cole's hat. And another: a royal elfroot. All by my hand, all carefully removed from my letters and stored away. I wanted to cry. Hidden in the heart of that terrible box of poison, he had secretly, just for himself, kept little pieces of me.

"Cullen," I said. "Cullen, will you take a walk with me on the battlements?"

"Of course," he said, surprised. "Just give me a minute and I'll join you." He carefully put the drawings back into the box and began to straighten out some papers on his desk, while I went outside.

I snapped my fingers and extinguished the nearby torch. It was cold and quiet, and dark, and I estimated it would take the guards perhaps five to ten minutes to notice the torch was out.

When Cullen emerged from his office, I pushed him up against the door and kissed him until neither of us could breathe. When I felt him fumble with one of the clasps at the throat of my tunic, I pulled back, a little alarmed.

"Are you trying to take my shirt off on the battlements?" I hissed.

"NO," he whispered back loudly. "I just wanted to—" It was dark, but I could imagine the blotchy red color he had probably just turned.

"Well, all right, then," I said, undid the top clasps myself, and pressed him back against the door. "In that case, you are welcome to resume."

He was still for a moment, wedged between me and the door, then he slowly ran his hand up my arm, across my collarbone, and eased my shirt open just a few inches to expose my throat.

"Oh, Evelyn," he rasped, pushed my hair out of the way, and kissed the spot between my neck and shoulder. He stood like that for a moment, his face buried in the crook of my neck, breathing deeply through his nose. Then he sighed, and shifted his weight so I stepped back.

"You have to get back to work," I whispered. In the darkness, I felt him nod. "I'll try to come and see you tomorrow." I stood on tiptoe, quickly kissed him on the cheek, and headed down the battlements. Halfway down the stairs, I turned, snapped my fingers, and relit the torch. He was already gone.

Further success! He called me Evelyn.


	17. New Skin

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I was not expecting the Emerald Graves to be nearly as beautiful as it is. This is better than the bog or the desert, and it has a large number of resources that I've been able to gather and pass on to the quartermaster. It is also fairly dangerous. The bears here are enormous, but just as vicious as the ones in Ferelden. Allow me to add that bears in the Free Marches do not attack people; they eat fish and berries.

A force of Orlesian deserters calling themselves the "Freemen of the Dales" are proving to be quite violent. I've met Fairbanks, who promised us information were we to defeat the Freemen, but I am already dealing with them. They've been enslaving people and keep attacking me while I'm working on tracking down these caravans.

Found two caravans thus far, and I think I have a lead on a third that some of Fairbanks' people might have seen. I've enclosed both of the letters I was able to find—it definitely appears like they are working with Samson. They seem to have no idea of the effects of red lyrium.

Several patrols of Red Templars here as well. Their bodies are changing; not just the glowing red eyes, but they have terrible crystals of the substance jutting out of their faces, arms, or backs. And they are so much stronger than regular Templars, their powers more intense. Hand-to-hand fighting with them resembles fights with the strongest abominations, only more dangerous. One of them attempted to smite me and nearly broke my staff in half, and it's bad when these things break, Cullen. I admit to being…disturbed by the possibility that I might encounter a companion from Ostwick.

I must admit that the constant travel, fighting, stress…everything is starting to wear on me. I have lost track of the number of rifts I have closed. I would very much like to sit with you in the garden and play a quiet game of chess in the sunshine.

By this point, you should have already set out from Skyhold, so I will send this letter to meet you in Val Royeaux.

Yours truly,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a sketch of a halla, its head raised, standing in the clearing of a forest.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

We are up and moving. As we pass through Orlais, I almost feel as if I am sending more people back to Skyhold than I am taking with me to the Western Approach. Merchants, artisans, peasants, elves, humans, even some dwarves—all spurred to make the pilgrimage to Skyhold to support the Inquisition. Josephine is going to be overwhelmed by the donations and demands of the nobility attracted to our cause.

I worry that I lead many of my troops to their death, but after this march, at least they will know that they do not labor in obscurity, that the common people of Thedas are beginning to support the Inquisition, that their cause is seen as righteous. Their hearts are lighter, too, knowing that the Herald of Andraste will be meeting them at Adamant.

I must admit to a similar feeling, although it is not the Herald of Andraste, but you—Evelyn—whom I anticipate seeing.

As to the Red Templars, I will admit to having the same concerns. I served in the Templars for much of my life, and I worry that one day I will face a former brother or sister over a sword. Many of my troops accompanied me from Kirkwall, but some chose to stay or go their own way. I am consoled, at least, that even during our current journey we have met a few Templars who resisted joining their companions at Therinfal Redoubt and have subsequently travelled to Skyhold to join our forces.

I would ask why you got close enough to a Red Templar for him to almost break your staff, but instead I will gently remind you to allow someone with a shield to stand in front of you. Perhaps you can have Dagna make you a new staff when we return to Skyhold, and I can take you up on your offer of a game of chess.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The room smells like blood and charred flesh. Uldred's twisted and mutilated corpse lies to the side, just one among many abomination and mage bodies that litter the room.

Solona is covered with blood; she leans heavily on her staff. Knight-Commander Gregoir and First Enchanter Irving are debating the fate of the mages remaining. Why are they even talking about this? Can't they see the danger?

I told her, why didn't she see? "To guarantee no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there," I'd said.

I push forward, stand in front of Gregoir. "Knight-Commander, for the safety of everyone, all these mages must be killed. They may have demons within them, lying dormant…lying in wait."

"You may be right, Cullen. That's a risk we can't take. I will invoke the Rite of Annulment, and the Ferelden Circle will be cleansed."

First Enchanter Irving bows his head, but he, too, sees the logic of my argument, and he walks over to lead the mages away to their fate. There are children there, an older boy and a girl I recognize. I don't care. The Circle must be destroyed to be saved.

"No," I say. "This is wrong. This is not how it happened. The mages lived." I imagine what it looked like: First Enchanter Irving continues on to the mages, but instead of being escorted to their deaths by a group of Templars, the mages leave of their own free will, back downstairs to clean up and repair what is left of the Circle.

I stand in the room, alone with Evelyn. "I am dreaming," I tell her.

"Identifying these patterns," she says, "and creating a plan will enable the dreamer to potentially alter the dream as they experience it, and, in a best-case scenario, begin a state of lucid dreaming and assume control of their own dream."

Evelyn places her hand on my armor, over my heart. "You feel…different," she says.

She looks at me, and asks sadly, "What is it you want, my dearest?"

I awake.

Maker, I was so young at Kinloch. If I had succeeded in convincing them to kill all those mages—but I didn't; Solona argued against me and succeeded. It could have been worse.

I have this dream often, and I wonder if writing it down several times in this journal has allowed me to gain some measure of control over events. I realize this is what the Inquisitor suggested might happen, but it was unexpected nonetheless. I have only been able to make this work with some of my most recurrent dreams, but that is still a positive thought.

As we travel, I try to focus on the journey. The Red Templars have moved into the Emerald Graves. The Inquisitor is in danger because she is looking for leads for Samson, another piece of my past from whom I cannot seem to escape.

I find myself even hesitant to think about…whatever is happening between myself and Evelyn. I developed these feelings never imagining that she might reciprocate. It never occurred to me. She is beautiful, yes, and I desire her physically, but she also held my hand, brought me food, and told me about her day. I want more of whatever that is, too.

I have been so terribly lonely and I did not know it, and now that I know, I am terrified that she will change her mind. Or worse, that I will lose her. The whole thing feels raw, new, like the skin that grows beneath a scab.

Maker, please, please, keep her safe.


	18. A Research Proposal

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I got another piece of information from the lyrium smugglers, and I think this will be enough for you and Leliana's people to put something together. We left the Emerald Graves almost immediately afterwards, and are riding to meet you at Adamant Fortress.

I dread what we will encounter at the fortress. Mages who use blood magic generally choose to do so for two reasons: one, they desire its power to advance their own fortunes; or two, they are terribly, terribly afraid. The former need to be killed, of course, but the latter are more difficult to predict. When I traveled with the Templars looking for escaped mages, I often would approach these individuals first, to see if I could calm them and prevent them from becoming a maleficar. But the ones who'd already crossed that line…they were the most dangerous, because they knew they had nothing to lose.

This seems to be the case with Warden-Commander Clarel. Her desperation has led her to the darkest of places, and now she must either follow through with her plan, or be forced to admit that she threw everything away because she was afraid.

I am writing this to you from an inn in the middle of nowhere. The food was edible, the beds seem flea-free, and the barmaids friendly. So friendly, in fact, that I am considering throwing a boot at the wall I share with Iron Bull.

I am not looking for an invitation, however, so I will get Varric to bother them. He owes me a favor.

Travel is boring, and some evenings all I have to do is write and re-read some of the few books I take with me. Thank you again for the Arancia; I used it nearly every day in the Graves, identifying unfamiliar plants.

Remember that your troops trust you, and follow you because you are worthy.

I miss you.

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the page is a small sketch of a room at a nondescript inn. There is a bed, a table, and a small cat sleeping in front of a fire.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan_:

Evelyn:

We have reached the edge of the Western Approach. Based on your last letter, we may arrive a few days in advance, so we will scout the area and begin to make plans for Adamant.

When you arrive, I will have already begun to prepare for the assault, and will have very little time to spare. I must work as hard as possible to ensure that we prevail, with as little loss of life as possible. If something happened to you because I planned poorly, I could never forgive myself.

After this is over, when we can breathe again, I'd like for you to tell me what Varric did to owe you such a big favor.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

The last few days, preparing for the assault on Adamant, have been a blur. I am generally useless when it comes to large-scale warfare, so I have spent much of my time among the troops.

The mages have been training for this, and I think they are ready. I am especially proud of the ones who have been paired with some of the Templars. Based on personal experience, these units can be devastatingly effective, and hopefully they will be able to cut through the Grey Warden mages and their pet demons.

A few nights ago, Hawke invited me to her tent to have a drink. I will admit to being hesitant at first. Hawke has a forceful personality, and it is always strange to interact with an apostate. I feel that we Circle mages and apostates are like siblings who have never met: we have similar characteristics, but we know nothing about the way the other actually lives. Meeting, even under friendly circumstances, can be awkward.

But Varric came along, and after a glass of wine, I found myself relaxing as they swapped tales.

"So, Inquisitor," Hawke said, turning to me, "Varric tells me that you've been making time with the Knight-Captain."

I shot Varric a look. "It doesn't surprise me that our resident storyteller has been spinning tales. Did he tell you the one where he lit himself on fire?"

He grinned and sat back in his chair. "Changing the subject, eh? Deflection is a true sign of guilt."

"What I would really like to know," Hawke drawled, "is what you see in that man. Or what he sees in you! You're a mage! He hates mages, sees blood magic everywhere. I once saw him kick one of his recruits in the balls when he suspected the man was an abomination."

"Yes," I said, "one technique involved in getting a demon to emerge from a subject who may be possessed is a short, sharp shock. Provokes an involuntary response from the subject. I myself prefer summoning a sliver of ice somewhere surprising. One between the shoulder blades is particularly effective."

I snapped my fingers and Varric shot out of his chair, yelping, "Andraste's ass!" He danced around for a few seconds, reaching awkwardly between his own shoulder blades, before I reached over and yanked the back of his shirt out of his pants. A piece of ice about as long as my hand fell out.

"See? Not an abomination. Congratulations, Varric."

Hawke burst into laughter. "Maker, Inquisitor, Varric didn't tell me you were insane! If I'd known, I'd've invited you out for drinks a long time ago. Circle mages can be such tight-asses. You're right, though, when Cullen kicked that recruit, the demon started up with the creepy voice, just like that."

Varric tucked his shirt back in haphazardly and sat down, shooing me a dirty look. "Don't take it out on me, Inquisitor. Curly's been giving you puppy eyes for literally months. Every time you talk to Dorian he looks like his poor Templar heart is broken."

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"Curly?"

"The man's softened up like you wouldn't believe, Hawke. He's...changed, just like all of us. After things went to shit in Kirkwall, he stuck around a while, working with Aveline to keep things together, but when Cassandra offered him a place in the Inquisition, he left. Left Kirkwall, left the Templars. Who knows, maybe living in a city with a giant red lyrium statue of his insane boss was just too much for him."

"Or, I don't know," she shrugged, "maybe he's haunted by all the mages who got tortured and killed or made Tranquil on his watch. Could be."

"Sometimes," I said slowly, "the people we count as our friends have done terrible things in their pasts. If they seek to atone, perhaps it is up to the Maker to judge, and for us to forgive if we can."

"Bullshit," Hawke spat. "I don't care if you do speak for Andraste herself, that's bullshit."

"How's Anders?" I asked. Varric choked on his drink.

Hawke blinked, then pounded Varric on the back a few times. She did not break her eye contact with me. "He has good days and bad days, like most of us."

I nodded. "I was not at Kirkwall, so I will never really understand. But everyone I know who was there carries a heavy burden, one of anger and shame. Perhaps, if you are so angry at the man, you should go and talk to him instead of me. Maybe after you've done that, we can have another drink. If there's time."

I got up and left, and as I passed, I touched her shoulder.

I hope she goes and talks with Cullen, for the assault on Adamant Fortress begins soon. Selfishly, I would like some of his time as well, for I have seen him only a handful of times since I arrived. He has set up a tent near the center of camp and is running most of his operation out of it.

This is just the reality of things for now, and I must use this time to recover from my journey as well. Perhaps I will beat Dorian at chess and attempt to relax for a few minutes.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

Hawke came to see me today, to discuss her role on the battlefield. When the assault begins, she has volunteered to assist our troops on the battlements.

I agreed, but cautioned her, "Once you get up there, you will be amongst some of the most dangerous fighting, and will be vulnerable to missile attacks. I don't know if you've participated in this type of large-scale attack before, but I want you to be sure to keep your barriers up at all times to ward off arrows."

"So, Knight-Captain," she crossed her arms, "since when do you give combat advice to mages?"

I thought she might have come ready for a fight, but then again, that was Hawke.

"Since," I said, "a fair portion of my army is comprised of the rebel mages who joined us after we rescued them at Redcliffe. And that is not my title anymore."

"We? I heard the Inquisitor invited them. That must have really pissed you off."

"At the time, I did not approve of the decision, but I trusted the Inquisitor's instincts. She has always been the leader we need."

"And your precious Inquisitor is a mage. I told her about all the shit you and your Templars did in Kirkwall."

"Hawke," I said quietly, "It might not mean anything to you, but I am sorry. I did not see how insane Meredith truly was until it was too late, and I took for granted that the mages were treated well, when they were not. At the time, my personal experience with blood magic had clouded my judgment, and I could not see what was happening as clearly as I should have. I have left that life, left the Templars, and I am trying to atone."

I sighed. "You don't have to accept my apology, but there it is. I am sorry. It is all I have."

She stood up, clapped me on the shoulder and said, "By the Void, Varric said you'd softened up, but I didn't believe it. Well, I guess if I can forgive that sack of nug dung Anders, I can certainly do the same for you, Curly." She sauntered towards the flap of my tent, then turned.

"By the way, when I told your Inquisitor about all the shit that went down in Kirkwall, she lectured me about 'casting off my burden of shame and anger,' and explained why it works to kick abominations in the balls. So…good luck with that."

I grinned. "The Inquisitor is an extraordinary woman."

"A smile, Cullen?" she shook her head. "You've definitely gone soft."

It was good to speak with her, to know that perhaps I can atone for what happened at Kirkwall. Now, I just need to deal with Samson, and perhaps my own burden from my previous life will truly be cast off, too, or at least lessened greatly. Perhaps it is more than I deserve, but I will take it.

* * *

_A note, delivered to the Inquisitor outside of Adamant:_

Inquisitor:

What's all this about kicking abominations?

Cullen

* * *

_A reply:_

Cullen:

You talked to Hawke, I see. Well, don't try it, because I made it up.

E

* * *

Evelyn:

Try what? What did you make up?

Cullen

* * *

C:

That kicking a suspected abomination in the balls can force a demon to show itself. Element of surprise?

E

* * *

Evelyn:

I did that once, actually. It sort of worked.

Cullen

* * *

C:

Sounds legitimate. Writing research proposal now. Study of Effects of Testicular Percussion on Suspected Abominations.

Also, have dinner with me?

E

* * *

Evelyn:

I can't, so busy.

Cullen

* * *

C:

Come by my tent when you're done and we can go for a walk to look at the fortifications. Inquisitor's orders.

E

* * *

Evelyn:

It'll be late.

Cullen

* * *

C:

I will be up. I'm working on a research proposal.

E

* * *

Evelyn:

I'll try.

Cullen


	19. The Way These Things Generally Go

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

Preparations are nearly complete. The siege engines have been assembled, and we will attack in two days. I wish we were also able to dig tunnels to undermine the foundations of the walls, but the sandy terrain of the Western Approach makes this a risky proposition.

It was late when I finally went by Evelyn's tent. I hesitated outside for a moment. While we have shared our feelings and…so forth, this still feels vaguely inappropriate and I am worried that I will damage the Inquisitor's reputation or embarrass her with my attentions.

But I went inside because lurking around uncertainly is probably a lot less appropriate than the Commander of the Inquisition going to consult on strategy with the Inquisitor. I hope. Also, it was chilly.

Unsurprisingly, she was asleep, sitting at her small table with her head pillowed on her arms. Her lamp was turned down low, and I think that she may have been snoring slightly. I walked over to her and cleared my throat loudly.

She snorted and sat up quickly, then winced and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Cullen?" she squinted at me. "Oh…I fell asleep."

She blinked rapidly a few times, waking up a bit. Then she stood, shuffled over to me, and wrapped her arms around my chest and said, "Mmm…" I stood there, feeling the hum of her magic, allowing her warmth to soak through my armor.

She glanced up at me after a moment. "This is acceptable, yes?"

"I…yes, of course," I said.

"I am no expert at this," she said, "but I have noticed in the past that the way these things generally go is that when someone hugs you, you also hug them back."

"Oh," I said, feeling myself begin to blush terribly, "I didn't know if you wanted me to…to touch you." I wrapped my arms around her. It was by far the most pleasant thing that had happened to me all day, which isn't saying much, now that I think of it.

"Is this about Hawke?" she asked.

"Partially," I admitted. "She reminded me that…for the longest time after Kinloch Hold, when I was at Kirkwall—the way I saw mages…I'm not sure I would have cared about you, and the thought of that sickens me."

"Two things," she said, her face still pressed up against my armor, "One: I told you, I like who you are now. I accept that you had a life before the Inquisition, and you carry that with you. But I care about this man, right here, right now," she tapped her finger on my armor, "because he is extraordinary. Two: Hawke is involved, still, with Anders. He's a mass-murdering abomination who started a war. He certainly deserves fewer hugs than yourself."

"Ah," I said, and then, to my everlasting shame, I yawned. I was dead on my feet, and I should have gone to bed, but I couldn't bring myself to go into battle without having spent just a little more time with her.

"Maybe I will pass on that walk tonight, Cullen," she smiled.

"That might be for the best," I said, and leaned down to kiss her. She backed away, though, and grabbed one of my hands in both of hers. "What are you—"

"Better this way," she said, as she tugged on the ends of each of my fingers, inexpertly pulling off my gauntlet. "I don't know how you write with these things on. Give me the other one," she ordered, but I removed it myself and placed it next to its mate on the table.

I spread my hands, "Better?" She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. My hands fell naturally at her waist, and it was, in fact, much better. I could feel the warmth of her body seeping through her tunic, and the movement of her muscles as she pressed herself against me. I briefly considered the possibility of exploring…elsewhere, but she was pulling me down and pressing her lips against my neck and I lost track of my thoughts.

A few minutes later, we pulled apart, gasping for air. Her hair was a terrible mess, her shirt half-undone, and I am worried now that I might have left a bruise on her neck, her skin there was so incredibly soft.

After she caught her breath, she leaned against the table and smiled at me while she worked to re-braid her hair. Unbound, it was longer than I thought, and fell around her face in tight waves from the constraints of the braid. I moved closer, reached out and touched her hair. She moved to cover my hand with hers, but as she raised her arm, I caught a glimpse of something reddish on her chest, revealed by her open shirt.

"Did I—" I began, but she interrupted me, pulling her shirt closed.

"It's nothing." She turned away from me for a moment, then turned back almost immediately. "Actually, it is something. You should probably take a look at this and see if it bothers you."

She moved her hand as if flicking water droplets off the tips of her fingers, and the tent was filled with tiny blue firefly-lights that bobbed and hovered in the air.

"I have a lot of scars," she said, turned her back to me again, and, to my consternation, took off her shirt, dropping it onto the cot beside her.

Her breast band covered up some of her back, but the scars there were still plainly visible in the blue-white light. Older, ropy strips crisscrossed her upper and lower back, scars recognizable to any soldier who has seen a flogging—at some point, she had been beaten severely and the wounds probably allowed to heal on their own.

She turned around. From her shoulder, down across her collarbone, spread all across her chest and other shoulder, there was another scar, one which I did not recognize. It was a dull red and…strangely organic, almost in the shape of the branches of a tree, or like the delicate lace of newly-formed frost on glass.

"The back is from when the Templars beat me and left me in solitary confinement when I was a teenager. I almost died. These other scars," she ran a finger across her shoulder and collarbone, down between her breasts, "these are much newer, from my time with the Templar hunters. We fought a pride demon, and it called down a lightning bolt."

"You people," and she stepped forward and flicked my breastplate, making it ring slightly, "are absolute lightning rods in these things. I pushed one of the Knights out of the way—it would have killed him on the spot—and ended up getting hit in the shoulder and blasted about ten feet away. I woke up still smoking and burnt with these markings."

"The Templars didn't heal you?" I demanded.

"We'd just fought a pride demon—those things are deadly. We lost two that day. Used up all of our supplies on our injured, including me—I had some pretty severe internal damage, but it didn't do much about the external burns. I…should not have tried to heal them myself. When I was young, I taught myself healing spells under terrible circumstances, and I've never been able to do them…right. The scars would have faded in time on their own, but now they are permanent. I think."

She shrugged, "My back is a mess, but it doesn't bother me because I can't see it, and these…" she ran her hand across her chest again, "I like them. They remind me of the Maker's plan, of the inherent order in things that seem chaotic, like the formation of a snowflake, or the fronds of a fern."

I was surprised to hear her speak of her faith. That, and the scars, reminded me that there is very much that I still do not know about this woman, and each time she reveals herself, it only makes me want to know more.

She crossed her arms over her chest. It was chilly, even in the tent. "I never really considered what someone else might think about them, because I've never had a man want to…to court me before."

"To court you?" I said, stupidly.

"Well," she shrugged, "that's what Cassandra told me we were doing. I wouldn't know—I've never done this before." She flicked her fingers to extinguish the fireflies and began to shrug her way back into her shirt, avoiding meeting my eyes.

Cassandra? Said we were courting? Seeker Pentaghast? I put that aside for a moment.

I had allowed myself some time on my trip here to consider my situation with Evelyn. I had contemplated the possibility that she might want me to…become her lover, and as attractive as that idea might be, it does not feel quite right. I don't know exactly what I want—this is all very new—but I do know that I want the possibility of something…more.

I do not know what she wants, either, and I have proven myself nigh incapable of guessing her motivations. But if, just then, she was asking me if I wanted to have the opportunity to see if we could be something more than just lovers, and that was what 'courting' her meant, then the answer was…

"Absolutely," I said.

"Excuse me?" she looked up from her half-fastened shirt.

I walked over to her and grabbed both of her hands. They felt smaller than when my gloves separated us, slightly rough and callused from wielding a wooden staff.

"Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, would you do me the great honor of allowing me to court you?"

The lamp was dim, and the fireflies were gone, but I think that she might have blushed. She tried halfheartedly to pull her hands away, but I held on.

"Say yes," I urged. "I'm almost certain that is the way these things generally go." I was teasing her, but in that moment, her reply mattered very much to me.

"All right, all right," she laughed. "Can I have my hands back?"

"One more thing," I said, and pulled her towards me. Releasing her hands, I opened the collar of her shirt and kissed her shoulder, then pressed my lips all along the scars on her collarbone until I reached her neck. She shivered, and I kissed her there, too, in that special place between her neck and shoulder.

I ran my hands down her sides, the curve of her hips, and underneath the hem of her shirt. I spread my hands over her lower back, feeling her skin for the first time, marred by scar tissue, warm, and incredibly soft. I slid my hands around her waist and pulled her flush against me, as close as my armor would allow. We kissed for…a long time.

She pulled away first, running her fingers lightly down the scar on my face.

"You should get some sleep, Cullen."

I often cannot rest the night before a battle—thus, the time spent writing tonight—but last night, I slept quite well. I did dream, but it was not a nightmare, only a dream of Evelyn. I will not record it here, both because of its more personal nature, and because I have no reason to want to change anything at all about it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Evelyn's scars are called "Lichenberg figures," and the internet will tell you about them if you are interested further.


	20. She Doesn't Come Back

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The battering ram crashes against the gates of Adamant Fortress, and I am crouched beneath a tower shield with the Inquisitor. Rocks thrown by the defenders rain down all around us, and the trebuchets pound the ancient walls.

She shouts something at me, but the noise is nearly deafening.

"What?" I yell. She points at the gates, and I realize that one more good hit and the gate will—

She is up, running, her party following close behind, nearly first inside the gates behind our most stalwart soldiers. Even over the din of battle, I can hear her yell, and a crack of lightning strikes inside the courtyard. I cannot go with her; my place is to rally the soldiers through the gate to buy her time, and so I raise my sword, utter a wordless cry, and together we move past the gates, to find the choke points and hold them so the Inquisitor can get to Warden-Commander Clarel.

Bodies litter the other side, mostly Grey Wardens, possibly some shades and remnants of rage demons. The Inquisitor's party is finishing off two more. I see her slam her staff down, and a line of frost shoots along the ground, to emerge as enormous spikes of ice exploding from the ground. The creatures are impaled and frozen where they stand, their flames extinguished by the cold, and with a mighty yell, Cassandra charges toward them and shatters them into chunks of charcoal.

"Pull back!" yells a Warden from the battlements, "They're through!"

There is no one left to pull back, but thankfully reinforcements do not arrive, either.

"All right, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make use of it," I shout at her. "We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

"I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe."

"We'll do what we have to, Inquisitor. Warden Alistair will guard your back. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements. She's assisting them until you arrive." I glance up, at our soldiers struggling to maintain the high ground. "There's too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold! If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."

She nods once, claps me on the shoulder, and is off and running again.

And so we fight. We push against a horde of demons, and Maker, every time, I forget what a battlefield smells like until I am back here: the blood, my own sweat, smoke, burning flesh.

It seems like hours have passed. A recruit next to me stumbles, and I yank him out of the way by his collar and plunge my blade into a shade. The ladders are making it up onto the battlements, now, and I hope that she has succeeded, but I cannot look for her, because every piece of my mind must be with my men.

A demon rakes its claws down my arm, leaving a trail of fire, and as I spin to sever its head, a terrible screech rends the sky. The dragon swoops down, and I can hear its breath of poisonous red lyrium fracturing against the battlements. Someone is running down the wall ahead of it—don't look, parry, thrust, push—when a massive lightning strike hits the dragon, as if from below, and it crashes through the battlements and they begin to collapse and she is falling

Oh, Maker, please, please.

The demon stands beside me.

"Do you know what you did? Do you remember, dearest?" she hisses.

"I fought, rallied the men to fight the demons."

"You fought? Why didn't you try to save her?"

"She told me to keep the men safe! It is my duty. I am the Commander of the Inquisition."

"You are nothing! Nothing without her. An addict, a failure. Because, you know," she whispers sweetly, "she doesn't come back."

I am standing beside the rift, and the Inquisitor's party staggers out, followed eternal minutes later by Alistair and Hawke. I have no air left in my lungs. I fall to my knees; my sword clatters to the ground.

"Where's the Inquisitor?" demands Varric. "Where's Evelyn?"

"She stayed behind so we could escape," pants Hawke. "She sacrificed herself."

I am suffused with anger and despair. All I want is to have saved her, to have kept her from falling.

"I could have saved her," offers the desire demon. "I could still save her now, if you asked me."

I close my eyes. "Demon, begone! Leave me!" I shout. "This isn't how it happened. She came back!"

"She came back," I whisper to myself.

I awake.

I have not seen Evelyn in over a month, not since we parted at Adamant. She did come back, out of the rift, but Hawke—bold, brash, angry Hawke—didn't. Hawke, who fought the Arishok, who lived nigh-openly as an apostate and consorted with a blood mage and an abomination in the same damn town as fucking Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard.

Hawke, who delighted in walking past me wearing an obviously magical staff, staring me down. I never knew why she used to come and chat with me in the Gallows, but I always assumed it had something to do with the fact that her presence made me absolutely insane, especially after I'd pieced together the very obvious evidence that she was an apostate.

Hawke, whom I'd told that mages were not people, "not like you and me." Maker, what an ass I was. She didn't like me, but I suppose that, despite everything, I always liked her. She lived the life she wanted, unrepentant, and I am…so sad she is gone.

It is good I left the Templars. I have grown far too soft on mages, mourning the death of an apostate and fraternizing—and not nearly as much as I'd like—with a former Circle Enchanter.

Our resources and supplies have been exhausted since Adamant, so Evelyn used this as a reason to not accompany us back to Skyhold. She headed back to the Dales, to the Exalted Plains, to investigate claims of a truce between Grand Duke Gaspard and Empress Celene's troops. We have had nothing but silence since we heard of this "truce," and I felt it was worth looking into. Just…perhaps not right away?

Evelyn left the Western Approach very quickly, so we had no real time together before she departed, and I am unsure why she left. I think she was also upset about the loss of Hawke, as well as her experience in the Fade. She did not speak to me about either of these things; up until now I have only read her reports. I worry.

"I can't stay here right now, Cullen. I hope you understand," she'd whispered to me as she saddled her horse.

"Of course, Inquisitor," I'd said stiffly, mindful of the people standing nearby. She made a face at me and rode away.

Now that I am back at Skyhold, I must identify those we have lost and notify their families, and I have been informed that I am also to prepare for a masquerade ball at Halamshiral. Both of these are arduous tasks, but I deem only one of them worthwhile, so I have been avoiding Josephine and writing letters to wives, husbands, mothers, and fathers in my office. It is draining, and while the dreams are not as paralyzing as they have been in the past, they are still frequent and upsetting.

I know where Evelyn is, roughly, because I keep her phylactery in my desk. I try not to look at it too frequently, though, as it feels…intrusive.

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

The Exalted Plains are overrun with undead, which is the cause of the truce we heard about between Celene and Gaspard's troops. I have spent the last several days destroying these creatures, cremating their corpses, and closing rifts.

I've also established contact with a band of Dalish elves, who at least seem interested in talking to us, if not outright assisting the Inquisition. I am slowly working to gain their trust, in order to see if they could become potential allies.

The Plains themselves are an odd juxtaposition between the area's natural beauty and the devastation of a protracted war. Both sides of the Orlesian forces have set up a variety of fortifications, which mar the countryside and, as I mentioned, are teeming with undead. The cost of the war has been great for Orlais, and I agree that our next move should be to Halamshiral, to see if we can bring this to an end and leverage the full power of the Empire to combat Corypheus.

I apologize for leaving with such haste from Adamant. What I underwent in the Fade was…unnatural. We should not have left Hawke behind. I'm sure you've read my report, so I will not go into any details unless you have questions. It was a mistake to throw myself back into the field so soon, and once I have resolved a few more issues here, I believe that I will return to Skyhold.

Seeing the soldiers here in the Plains reminds me of the larger cost of war, and I hope that in the future, conflicts like Adamant can be avoided. At its heart, I do not think the Inquisition is, or should be an army. I think of the troops we lost, people who fought and died so we could stop Clarel's plans.

I know that you and Hawke were not friends, but she was still part of your life in Kirkwall, and I am sorry.

Evelyn

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

I am glad that you arrived safely in the Plains. Our full forces have returned to Skyhold, and we are working to repair and rebuild after our losses at Adamant—losses which, while I regret them deeply, were still worth the price to prevent Corypheus from forming a demon army.

You are right that Hawke and I were never friends, but we fought together at the end. Or was it the beginning? I do not know. She was often a difficult woman to deal with, but she did her best for her friends and cared deeply about her adopted home. Varric must also be very upset—he and Hawke were each other's shadows for many years, and their fortunes rose and fell together in Kirkwall. I wonder if he will return there when all this is over.

It seems that Varric, Samson, and I are the only ones left from that time, and when you return to Skyhold, I would like to speak to you about some intelligence gleaned from the letters you gathered in the Emerald Graves. Lelilana has found about where the supply of red lyrium seems to be coming from.

There is something else that I'd like to speak to you about, but it can wait until you return. Your presence at Skyhold is always good for morale, both for the troops, and, I admit, for myself.

Be safe.

Cullen


	21. In My Extensive Experience

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

Returning from the Dales today, accompanied by one of the Dalish who wishes to become an agent of the Inquisition. Perhaps you might carve some time out of your schedule to actually have dinner with me when I return?

Evelyn

_[Another drawing of a halla, this one standing next to one of the aravels at a Dalish camp]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

Acknowledged. Nothing would make me happier.

Cullen

* * *

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

We are currently on our way back to Skyhold, thank the Maker. I believe the Inquisitor is pushing herself too hard, and the break will be welcome.

We took second watch together last night, along with Cole. Sitting on a nearby rock, she seemed engrossed in cleaning her staff. Cole sat on the ground beside her, leaning his head against her leg and humming off-key to himself. He is…disconcerting, but after having traveled with him, I think that he means well. This does not make him any more pleasant to be around, however. He seems to have developed an attachment to the Inquisitor and seems to find her presence soothing.

Thinking I was unobserved, I slowly reached into my knapsack and pulled out my book. We sat in silence for a few blissful minutes, until—

"Good book?" asked the Inquisitor.

I jumped, and dropped the book into the darkness behind me. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Are you…blushing?" she asked, peering at me across the fire.

"It's of no interest to you, I'm certain."

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head at me. "Obviously, it is, or I would not be asking."

"It's a book," I sighed, picking it up off of the ground and dusting it off.

"I can see that. We had lots of them in the Circle."

"It's…one of Varric's tales," I said in a low voice. "Swords &amp; Shields. The latest chapter."

"So you like to read? What's wrong with that? I read all sorts of things."

"It's frivolous. There are more important things for me to do. I should be…completing my account about what I saw in the Fade."

"Cassandra, I'm still sorting out what happened in the Fade, and even I am not entirely content with my conclusions. Give it some time."

"She's read this one three times," Cole chimed in from his spot on the ground.

"You! I told you to stop spying!" I snapped desperately at Cole.

"You read it out loud to me. I don't like the Captain either," he added.

"I never did that," I lied.

"I don't know this book, Cassandra," the Inquisitor looked even more curious. This was going horribly. "What is it?"

"It's literature…smutty literature. Whatever you do, don't tell Varric!"

She cocked her head to the side. "Can I borrow it?"

"You? No!"

"Why not me?"

"You're the Inquisitor!"

She laughed. "Oh, I see. I'm not allowed to read it because it's smutty? Cassandra, I kill people all day long. A sexy book is not going to impact my ability to lead or cast spells. That's one of his serials, isn't it?"

"They're terrible-and…magnificent. And…this one ends in a cliffhanger! I know Varric is working on the next; he must be. You! You could ask him to finish it. Command him to…" I blinked. This had gone far enough. "Pretend you don't know this about me."

"I have a counteroffer, Cassandra," she said, folding her hands calmly in her lap. "You lend me that book, and not only will I talk to Varric about finishing it, but I'll try to help you write your report."

I slumped in my seat. "Writing does not come naturally to me, as I'm certain you can imagine. This report…historians will one day ask what happened at Adamant, in the Fade. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes, and it must be recorded."

She beamed at me. "That's an excellent idea."

"I certainly thought so, until I started writing. I still don't know what to say about the spirit of the Divine. I saw her there, heard her voice, yet I cannot claim with certainty that it was really her. The Chantry teaches us that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade, so it could have been her…yet, even so…"

The Inquisitor paused for a long time, then took a deep breath. "I choose to believe it was the Divine. She gave her life at the Conclave, to help me escape the Breach, and…when I regained my memories, she…felt the same. There is no way of truly knowing, but perhaps she helped us one last time."

"I hope that's true. I want to believe it," I shivered, but not from cold. "When I realized we were physically in the Fade, I was terrified almost beyond reason. The last time such a thing happened, we created darkspawn. We created Corypheus. The world needs to know the truth this time. No more legends lost to the ages." I rose, and handed her the damned book. "I will write. I have no talent for it, but…it is important."

She nodded. "Cole and I will finish the watch, Cassandra." I went into my tent and set to work.

About an hour later, the Inquisitor scratched on the flap of my tent and entered. "How goes the writing?"

"It is slow going but…I am making some progress."

"Excellent news," she squeezed my shoulder. "I had a question for you, though."

"Yes, Inquisitor?"

She opened the book to a particularly salacious scene about halfway through. "The 'self-righteous,' 'curly-haired' Templar in this book—the one who pledges himself to the Knight-Commander but who is secretly obsessed with the mage and falls prey to her seduction and then they…you know," she made a vague gesture with her hand.

"Do we really have to talk about this? And how did you already get so far? And…ah!" I exclaimed, realization dawning.

"I'm a fast reader. Anyway, he seems quite familiar, does he not? Tall, blond, 'commanding presence'…"

"Maker, Inquisitor, Cullen would die if he found out. But he'd kill Varric first."

"Indeed," she said, tapping the cover of the book with her finger. "Let me finish this and we'll see what I can do about getting your sequel written, hm?" She smiled at me, ducked out of the tent, and I went back to my writing with renewed vigor.

I find it hard to think of a time I ever questioned her leadership.

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

We arrived back at Skyhold around noon, about as dirty and odoriferous as one would expect after weeks on the road, sleeping out of doors. All three advisers met us on our way in, and Cullen was especially stuffy as we headed to the War Room, greeting me with an "Inquisitor. We were-"

"Eagerly awaiting your presence," interrupted Lelilana. "Some of us more than others."

"I wasn't…" he stammered. "I mean, I was—we have work to do." A red flush spread across his cheekbones.

I ignored them both. "Josephine, can you tell me what kinds of leads we have on getting into the masquerade at the Winter Palace?"

She continues to leverage her connections, but we are not quite there yet—I know she'll make it work eventually, but I have little patience for these sorts of things. What little I do have, left over from my time before the Ostwick Circle, I will save up for the actual trip to the Palace itself.

Once a course of action was settled upon, I took my leave and headed up to my quarters to bathe and attempt to relax.

Unsurprisingly, Cullen neglected to show up for the evening meal I had ordered in my quarters, so I invited Varric instead. He is still mourning the loss of his best friend, and it seems to help to talk about Hawke and their misadventures together. He was especially cheered to find out that Cassandra was interested in the next issue of his serial, and I was able to get him to promise to write more, on the condition that he be allowed to present her with the book—and Cullen wouldn't be told about that salacious guest appearance.

So in the end, it was certainly a better use of my time than if I'd had had dinner with Cullen, because Varric was hurting, and I made him laugh. I still felt unhappy about the Commander's absence, however.

After dinner, I went over to his office to investigate his whereabouts. I found him, unsurprisingly, sitting at his desk, reading over reports and taking notes. A map of Orlais and Ferelden was spread over part of the desk.

He looked up. "There you are."

"Were you waiting for me?" I inquired sweetly.

"Yes. I mean, no."

"Interesting, because I am quite certain I was waiting for you. You said you'd have dinner with me, correct?"

"Oh, Maker, I completely lost track of time. I was trying to get as much work out of the way as I could before—"

He started rubbing the back of his neck.

"I can come back later, if you prefer." I was tired and growing more irritable by the second.

"No, please stay." He came around the desk and took my hands. "I'm sorry, I truly am, Evelyn. I was just trying to get things ready…we have some dealings in Ferelden, and I was hoping you might accompany me. When you can spare the time, of course."

"You want me to go with you?" I was surprised by the request; he seemed nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"What? No! I would rather explain there. If you wish to go." He squeezed my hands, and looked at me hopefully.

"Well…I believe there's time now." It seemed important to him; perhaps it was something nice? I decided to feel less irritated. "I could potentially be ready to go tomorrow, but if that is the case, I should get to sleep early."

"I will…make the necessary arrangements." He beamed at me, and seemed about to add something, but one of his scouts entered from a side door. He immediately dropped my hands and went to look at the report, and I slipped out the door before he was finished.

That man. I swear to the Maker, right now, I think this trip is going to be something sweet, but at this rate, he will probably just take me to a tallow-rendering factory in Denerim. Also, I am the leader of the Inquisition; if I am good enough to be pushed out of the Breach by the spirit of Divine Justinia, the least he could do would be to not act like he is ashamed of me in public.

I get the feeling that I am also being unreasonable, and complaining about it in my diary like a teenager. I will go to the library and look for something light, now that I have finished Cassandra's smutty book.

Dorian was lurking in the library, as usual, and he sidled up to me.

"I hear someone has a thing for strapping young Templars," he grinned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Just something I find terribly adorable about you."

I perused the books for a moment, my hands on my hips.

"The way you're looking at those books, I feel sorry for whichever one you choose. I can only assume that it will end up quickly immolated."

"Dorian," I said, turning to him, "you know things about men, yes?"

"Why yes," he preened, "I do consider myself an aficionado."

"Why would a man—hypothetically speaking, let's say the subject is a strapping young Templar," I began slowly.

"Hypothetically, of course," he agreed, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the shelf.

"Why would a man express…interest…in someone, and then go out of his way to conceal this interest to others?"

"Oh, you southerners," he said affectionately, "when someone does not instantly announce their sexual desires to the entire world, you begin to worry. In the Imperium, we keep these passionate feelings repressed, where they belong."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think we're going to the Orlesian Court soon. I hear they're all smiles and murder, like home. Just less magic." I selected a nicely illuminated version of the Arancia and turned to leave. "Have a nice evening, Dorian."

"Oh, Inquisitor, don't go," he sighed. "After dealing with my sordid family drama, I would be terribly remiss if I did not help you."

"In my extensive experience," he said, stroking his mustache, "a man who behaves in such a fashion does so for several reasons: he could be either shy, repressed, or very private, or he is the sort of man who wants you, but does not want to want you, and certainly does not want anyone else to find out about it."

"Ah," I said. "That last one sounds…unpleasant."

For a moment, Doran looked terribly sad.

"Yes," he said, "it is."

"Well," I thought for a moment, "I suppose I will just have to ask."

He let out a bark of laughter, then sobered up and looked at me skeptically.

"You're serious, aren't you? Darling girl, this is not how you play the game at all."

I shrugged. "I could die any day. I don't have time to play games, especially when I don't know the rules." I tucked my book under my arm. "Goodnight. Thank you for speaking with me—it was informative."

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," he smiled, shaking his head at me.

I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed to bed.

I am no longer feeling as irritable about the whole situation. After living a life in the Circle, I can understand the desire for privacy, for a space and a life of my own. On the other hand, I also no longer have to conduct any relationship under cover of darkness, and I refuse to do so. Perhaps I will discuss this line between privacy and secrecy with Cullen. The fact that he has asked me to go somewhere with him hopefully indicates the former instead of the latter.


	22. This Can't Hurt

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

We set out a few days ago. The first day, travelling out of the Frostbacks, was exhausting for all, but on the second day, as we moved into Ferelden—and more temperate climes—I was pleased when Evelyn rode beside me for a while.

My enthusiasm for planning this trip had resulted in the usual forgotten meal at Skyhold, and I was worried that I had hurt Evelyn's feelings or given her the wrong impression about my priorities. It had only occurred to me as we rode in silence that first day that she, too, had been enthusiastic about something—about having dinner with me, based on her repeated requests that I join her. I felt guilty and miserable all day, had a headache, and it snowed.

So it was a relief when her horse drew alongside mine that next day and she began to ask me questions about our trip. At least she was still talking to me. The warmth came back into my bones, and I was reminded of our game of chess: sitting in the sun, enjoying the company of a pretty girl, but this time it was better because I had asked her if I could court her, and she'd said yes.

"This is one of the mixed military units, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, pleased that she'd noticed. "This one consists of several mages, several Templars, and the remainder are 'ordinary' recruits. I am interested in accompanying this particular group of soldiers because I've been told good things about one of our mage-Templar command pairings, and I want to observe the unit's dynamics."

I had only briefly considered accompanying them, actually, but when I saw that their path was passing near Honnleath, I decided I would invite Evelyn along. The pile of work that will accumulate while I am gone can go to the Void for all I care right now.

"So what is their objective?"

"We need to replenish supplies for our healers, so the unit is ordered to go down into the Hinterlands to gather elfroot and such, and also make sure that the situation there is still peaceful. If it is acceptable to you, we will part ways with them before we reach there, they will rejoin us two days later, and we will head back to Skyhold."

"Two whole days, Commander?" She raised an eyebrow. "This is acceptable, but if I'd known I would have packed the chess set."

I smiled at her with relief. "I had a similar idea, so I brought one."

"I am glad you are not trying to avoid being beaten soundly again. Now, tell me more about the command structure of this unit."

After a few more minutes of conversation, she rode off to mingle with the rest of the troops, and I felt good about the conversation and my plan. I could not help but notice that she had not asked me to have dinner with her, however. Perhaps tonight I will make the time and join her anyway.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

We parted ways from the rest of the Ferelden-bound troops near midday, and rode on towards Honnleath. She had spent her evening meal with the troops over the past several days, and I could not begrudge her attention, for I saw what a difference it had made in their morale. I will admit that I was relieved to see them go, however. It was dusk when we tied up our horses near a likely campsite, and we walked in silence towards the lake.

We made our way out onto the dock. It was strange to see my previous life juxtaposed with my current one. An enormous gulf of time and experience had passed since the last time I was here, but now I was back, with Evelyn. It felt right.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking out over the expanse of the lake.

I leaned against the pier. "You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a moment."

She watched me from the other side of the dock, her expression unreadable in the fading light.

"I grew up not far from here," I explained. "This place was always quiet."

"Did you come here often?"

"I loved my siblings, but they were very loud." I smiled. "I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually."

"Ah," she said. "You were happy here?"

"I was. I still am."

She cocked her head at me and sent me that sharp look, reminding me again of one of the small brown birds I used to feed on the window ledges at Kinloch Hold.

"Alone with a mage. That doesn't concern you?" This, again. I wondered how long our previous lives would stand between us.

"The Templars have rules on…fraternization. But I'm no longer bound by them."

"I know but…you've seen the worst mages have to offer. How can you not see that in me?" She gazed out at the lake. "This is the first time you and I have ever been really, truly alone. When we are among other people, you…withdraw. It makes me feel as if you are ashamed of being with a mage."

"I don't…I'm not ashamed. If I've given you reason to doubt...of course I have." I caught myself rubbing the back of my neck nervously, and stopped, looking into her eyes. "Whatever I fear of magic, I see none of that in you."

I took her hands. "You are important to so many people. I do not want to be disrespectful or inappropriate with the Inquisitor. And after so many years in the Templars, I just wanted to have something that was mine, something private, that they could not touch, that the lyrium could not poison."

"Ah," she said. "Like the drawings in the box." I let out a breath I did not know I'd been holding. She understood. She looked down on our joined hands and started tugging on the fingers of my gauntlet. I smiled and allowed her to pull it off and place it down onto the dock.

She placed her cool hand in my warm one, and we stood there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the water, holding hands. It is spring in Ferelden, and the lily pads on the lake were just beginning to unfurl.

After a while, I reached my other hand into my breastplate, near my heart, and pulled out the coin.

"The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this." I showed it to her. "It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck."

I looked at it: such a trivial thing to offer, lying there on my palm.

"Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our…faith should see us through."

"You broke the Order's rules?" She squeezed my hand and smiled. "I'm shocked."

"Until a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time."

I closed my fist around the coin.

"This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn't give me."

"Humor me." I handed it to her. I would have given her anything, all of me, right then and there, but I did not know how. I hoped, at least, that this could be a start. "We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt."

"I'll keep it safe." She carefully tucked it into a pouch at her waist, then took my hand again and pulled me closer. "You honor me with your gift."

"Good. I know it's foolish, but…I'm glad."

She tugged me down into a soft kiss. I know that I must share her with so many people. I must not be jealous of her time, or the smiles she shares with others, and I cannot presume to know what she will want from me when this is all over. But my heart was full of joy, because for that time there by the lake, what I felt for Evelyn was mine, and mine alone. I hope she knew during those two days that I was hers, too.


	23. A Truly Foul Mouth

_From Enchanter Trevelyan's personal journal:_

I have spent two days in Cullen's company. All in all, the results have been favorable, but I think we are not at all used to spending so much time together.

The first evening, after we talked at the lake, we set up camp.

He mentioned placing a trap for a hare, but I set up a small warding rune near the edge of the lake and managed to kill a goose who had the misfortune of having migrated back early.

I brought it back to the fire, where I chilled it with a quick frost spell and cut off its wings. Cullen had dragged over a dead log and I sat next to him and began to pluck the bird, placing the feathers and down in a small pile. I glanced up at him, and he was giving me a strange look.

"Yes?" I said.

"You are…"

"Dressing a goose?" I offered. "Making dinner?"

"A noblewoman," he finished.

"I can't hold titles or inherit property," I reminded him. "But there is nothing about being a mage or a noble that keeps me from cooking camp food."

"I beg to differ," he chuckled. "I think most of the nobles I've ever met would not even know where to start, let alone deign to learn."

"I traveled with the Templars for several years. I took the opportunity to learn what I could from them. It was…helpful to not appear as dead weight."

"What was it like to work with them?" He crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back. "I have heard of such arrangements, but our situation in Kirkwall was so strained that it would have been impossible."

"In the beginning, they did not trust me," I smiled, "and many of them did not want me there. As I think I told you, I was able to intercede with some of the runaway mages who had not resorted to demons or blood magic. Many of the Templars were pleased to have avoided loss of life. I also proved to have a bit of an aptitude for combat magics, and I got better, fast, and became an asset against demons."

I thought back. How to explain what it was like?

"We barely ever spoke to each other, but they trusted me in what little ways they were permitted." I turned the goose over in my hands. "Showing me how to clean a bird, and giving me the knife I needed. Not complaining when I used magic to cool it down so it would pluck easier, or to start the campfire. Ideally, I would hang this up for a few days, but it should be fine."

"I need to move away from the camp to do this," I rose. "You are welcome to join me if you'd like, although this part smells unpleasant."

"Of course," he smiled, and we walked to the other side of the lake where I gutted the bird and cleaned out the cavity, leaving the remains for scavengers. When we returned, I cut it into pieces and tossed it into a cast iron pot along with some slices of onion and a bit of bacon. I nestled it in the firepit and piled some coals on top, washed my hands in the lake, and rejoined Cullen while it cooked.

"It's going to take a bit," I said, sitting down next to him and leaning on his shoulder. He put his arm around me, and we sat comfortably for a while as night settled on the lake. I am getting used to the resonance I experience when we are in close proximity. It was never unpleasant, but I now find it to be…comforting. "You know, you've seen me reach out and close a rift, kill pride demons, but the moment I clean a goose for dinner, that's when you start looking at me like I might really be the Herald of Andraste."

I felt him begin to laugh before I heard him, a deep bass rumble starting in his chest.

"You just…always surprise me," he chuckled.

"It feels strange to be doing nothing," I noted. "Normally, in camp, I sort out the herbs I've gathered, maintain my staff, write you a letter."

He tightened his arm around me. "I personally think this is a good use of your time."

I leaned my head against his chest, trying to ignore the chill and poke of his armor. He smelled like metal, horses, leather, and sweat. I wondered if I smelled like blood and the innards of a goose. I reached into my bag and rummaged around, pulling out a bit of elfroot, rubbing it briskly between my hands to release the pungent oils and then replacing it in the bag.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"I was just thinking that there was a good probability I smelled like blood and goose bowels, if you must know."

He pulled me back to my seat on the log and sniffed my hair. "You smell like…wood smoke, and horses, and lavender. And elfroot." He touched the end of my braid, then looked up at me. "Will you…will you take your hair down?"

"No," I replied, "but you are welcome to do so. That way, if it falls in the fire and half of it burns off, it will be your fault."

He nodded.

And so we sat by the fire and he slowly unbraided my hair, a process which I found to be significantly more distracting than I had anticipated. I think he must have found it distracting too, for by the time he finished, he was breathing harder than usual through his nose, a behavior which I have observed seems to indicate a high level of arousal on his part. He shoved his hand into the loose hair at the base of my skull and pulled my face close to his, so our foreheads touched. I could feel his breath on my face.

"Evelyn?" he whispered harshly. He was asking me something, but I did not know what it was. And so, as I am apparently wont to do when desperate, attractive men ask me inscrutable questions, I removed my overcoat, and unclasped my shirt. This seems to be a new personality defect I have, but luckily it appears to only apply to this particular man.

He pulled me closer, and buried his face in the crook of my neck, an area of my body I have noted that he favors. He kissed me several times there, breathing hard, and reached up with his other hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"Fuck!" I yelped. A chunk of my hair was caught in between his glove and bracer. He tried to pull back and yanked on it more. "Maker, hold still, Cullen! I'm stuck to your stupid gauntlet."

I finally extricated myself, leaving several long hairs caught in between the leather and metal of his glove. I rubbed my scalp as he apologized.

"If you wanted a lock of my hair, Ser Knight, you could have just asked for it."

He was looking quite ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry. I should not have done that. I was careless, and I hurt you. I was just…you are so…" he trailed off, bereft of an explanation.

"Cullen," I said, "you are perfectly welcome to try that again. It felt very…nice, but you just—you're covered in metal. Things are going to get stuck." I kissed him on the cheek, refastened my tunic, and turned to the firepit. "Now, I am going prepare our evening meal. You may assist me by finding the plates and utensils in our packs, if you would like."

Cooling my hands with a layer of frost, I removed the coals from the top of the cast iron pot and put them back into the fire, and lifted the lid off. It smelled lovely, and seemed to be done. I turned back, and Cullen was still sitting there, his brown eyes dark and liquid in the firelight. He was looking at my hands. I washed the soot off in the lake, and found utensils, two pewter plates and an enameled mug in my bag.

I returned, put pieces of the goose on the plates, and handed one to Cullen.

"Be careful," I said, and joined him again on the log, "it's hot."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a finger. "If you are going to attempt to apologize again, I strongly suggest you substitute in a statement about how nice this food smells, because, Cullen, I am going to have dinner with you for once in my life before I manage to get sucked into another rift, menaced by another darkspawn magister, or die of old age. Or all three at the same time."

He blinked, sniffed the steam over his plate and said, "This really does smell wonderful. And maybe what I was going to say, Inquisitor, is that you have a truly foul mouth."

I smiled at him. "Thank you."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. When I'd finished, I put my fork down and sighed, "Very well, you've been civilized for long enough, and I think this counts as actually having had dinner with you. The next time I get pulled bodily into the Fade, I will console myself with this memory. Consider yourself free to talk about whatever you'd like."

He placed his empty plate carefully on the ground. "Evelyn," he said, "I have been with other women, but you are the only one I have ever wanted to…and then at Adamant, you told me that you hadn't…" He blew out a great sigh. "I just want things to be perfect."

I slid closer to him, and he put his arm around me again. He is significantly larger than me, and I like this.

"Cullen, I'm sorry if you had an idea of what this evening was supposed to be. Things for us are never going to be perfect, but just because I've never had a lover before doesn't mean I want perfection. I just want you. Before you met me, I spent all of my time on my research, or in the field. You're really only the second man I've ever wanted in my life, or in my bed. Does it bother you?"

"No! I mean, no, I am pleased that you…" he cleared his throat.

"I think 'desire' is a good word," I supplied helpfully. I put my hand on his knee. Or, at least, where I thought his knee was, beneath the armor.

"Yes, thank you. I am pleased that you…desire me."

"In my bed." I moved my hand up to his thigh. He really has quite an amazing physique.

"Yes, in your…bed." He closed his eyes. "Perhaps it would be best if we took some more time to become comfortable with one another, before we consider—"

"Fucking?" I offered breathily, near his ear.

"Fu-?" he shot up off of his seat. "Maker's breath, Evelyn!"

"Fine, fine," I grumbled. "Comfortable is good, and you're right, it will probably keep me from jumping out of my skin every time you try to do something new. I know as well as anyone else that information from books is worth very little compared to field experience. Now, will you please sit back down?"

He sat back down, on the completely opposite side of the log, and shot me a sour look. "'Field experience?' Really, Enchanter Trevelyan?"

I grinned back at him.

"You were the one who complained about my foul mouth. Perhaps you would prefer…'researcher's observations.'" I scooted slightly closer.

"Or 'pertinent data.'" I moved next to him, leaned in close.

"My personal favorite, 'request for Templar assistance?'" I proposed, trailing a finger down his breastplate.

He let out a crack of laughter, then wrapped his arms around me, pulled me sideways into his lap, and gave me a squeeze. "You," he sighed, and that was all he said for a long time. I put my head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his arms around me and the sounds of the lake at night.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and asked, "So, who was this other man you wanted in your life, before me?"

I chuckled. "If you think I'm going to tell you the name of the Templar I had a crush on when I was sixteen, you are sorely mistaken."

He is right, of course, that we should grow more comfortable with each other. My feelings for him are very intense, yet I can only make up a little bit in eagerness what I lack in knowledge. So, as always, the first thing to do is to go and gather information. First: the armor.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay. I am attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to wrangle this story into a safe M-rating, and it's not working out so well. I'll continue to post this story up until the dirty bits, and in the meantime I'll do some research on what gets you banned and what doesn't.


	24. I Can't Ever Relax

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

It was after spending just a few hours alone in Evelyn's company that I realized that my resolution to take things more slowly and get more comfortable was probably more for my benefit than for hers.

I am…too aggressive with her. When I am close to her, and she smiles at me and welcomes my touch, I have problems controlling myself. I need to start believing that every time together will not be our last, that every time I touch her she will not change her mind, or worse, that one day, she will be the one who doesn't come back.

This makes me feel…skittish, for lack of a better word. When things do not go exactly as I want them to—which appears to be all the time—I catch myself pulling back from her because I am certain I have ruined it. And yet, somehow, it was not ruined, because there she was, sitting on my lap in front of the campfire, falling asleep.

I shifted my weight and she stirred and hummed contentedly, before opening her eyes.

"You should go to bed," I said. "I will clean up out here."

She sat up and slid off of my lap. "You go rinse the dishes off in the lake, and I'll take care of the rest of it." She nudged the pot back in the firepit with her foot, placed a small object near the fire, then waved her hand and a complicated patterns of burning white lines surrounded the whole thing.

"Warding rune, plus a glyph," she said proudly, "one of my own. It'll shock the shit out of—excuse me, it will 'apply a repeated electrical shock to'—a bear several times before it dissipates. Plus some other surprises. Never had any problems with scavengers when I use it. I think they can smell the energy, although I have not tested it in controlled conditions."

I shook my head, and went down to the lake. There is so much casual magic in her everyday life, and I admit that I am not entirely comfortable with this, either. I will have to work to become accustomed to it, but I would like to. That is, assuming that she might want me as part of her…everyday life.

When I returned to camp, she had put everything in order, but was nowhere to be seen. In front of my tent, she had left a few of her blue-white fireflies. I listened for a second, then heard her rustling around inside. There was a slight pause, and then the light came seeping out from between the flaps, too. She poked her head out. Her unbound hair fell in long waves, and she pushed it out of the way impatiently.

"Come here," she said. "I want you to show me something before I go to sleep." How could I say no? Besides, I rationalized, she was in my tent. I needed to go in there to sleep, eventually.

I pushed the flap aside and entered. Everything was as I left it—small table, camp chair, bedroll—with the exception of the lights that danced overhead. She grasped my hands and pulled me into the tallest part of the tent.

"So," she said, "your armor."

"My…armor?"

"Yes," she said impatiently, "I want you to show me how to take it off, and how to store it properly. It gets in the way."

"That isn't…no. I mean…I can handle it." The warm, relaxed feeling I had accumulated while she dozed in my lap was rapidly dissipating. In its place, nervousness with a touch of anticipation had started to form, which always seems to be when I get myself into trouble with her. My stomach tightened at the thought that she might want to touch me. Thus far, the armor had formed an effective barrier between us, and maybe I was happy with it that way. Until I got more comfortable.

"I've taken your armor off before...sort of. But I think I did it wrong."

"You…what?"

"When you were sick," she explained, approaching close to me and examining a strap on my breastplate. It took everything I had to not step back, and I was having problems concentrating on what she was saying to me.

"When I was…oh." I remembered. "You called me a 'damned turtle.' I was still wearing both of my greaves and one gauntlet when I woke that morning and I found my armor in a disorganized pile."

"It was difficult," she shrugged, "because you are much larger than me and wouldn't cooperate. Now, will you just show me?"

"I…shouldn't," I said. "It wouldn't be…"

"Cullen," she said, "I can't get comfortable with you if I can't touch you. And I can't touch you if you're covered in metal. And more pieces of me will get pinched if we keep this up. Will you at least show me how to take off these leg things?"

"Greaves," I corrected automatically, and sighed. "The straps are in the back."

She knelt down behind me and I could feel her fingers on the back of my calf, undoing the buckles. It was not so terrible.

"What should I do with them?" she asked, holding both pieces of metal awkwardly.

"Put them on the table neatly. Don't stack. I will want to look at them this evening to see if they need oil." She did so, then returned and reached for my hands.

"One finger at a time. Tug, don't yank. It'll go easier if you undo the straps on the bracers as well." She had a bit of practice, so this seemed to go more smoothly, and she placed the gauntlets on the table.

I felt vulnerable with my hands uncovered. I didn't know where to put them, so I started to undo my cloak.

"Look, I'll do the rest of it, and you can watch, I suppose." I tossed her the cloak. The fur landed in front of her face with a thump, and she laughed.

As she put it on the bedroll, I realized there was something different about her: she was laughing more than I'd ever seen her do at Skyhold. Was this perhaps what it was always like to travel with her? I selfishly hope that it was because my plan to take her away, even if just for a moment, had worked.

I shed my breastplate and pauldrons while she observed the process.

"So you have to oil them so they don't oxidize. I assume this is worse when they get wet, yes?"

"Uh, yes," I said, and put them with the rest of the armor on the table.

"You know, I might be able to craft a rune for you that would cut down on oxidation and also help to ward against cold." When I turned around, she was standing very close to me, examining the breastplate. She looked up.

"May I touch you?" she asked. "You've never let me touch you without your armor on."

'Let' her touch me? I would have dropped to my knees and begged her to touch me months ago if I thought it would have worked.

I grabbed her hand, placed it over my heart. "Always." I don't know what, exactly, I was promising her, but I meant it.

She leaned closer to me, and rested her forehead on my chest.

"Tomorrow," she yawned, "will you leave it off? Your armor, I mean."

"Very well," I agreed.

She wrapped her hand around mine and started pulling me towards my bedroll. I went with her, but stopped at the edge. She pulled her hand from mine and sat down.

"Evelyn, I don't think…"

"Three things," she said, crossing her feet at the ankles and leaning back on her elbows. I tried to look anywhere but her breasts and was only partially successful. "One: we both agreed to delay having intercourse until we are more comfortable with each other."

"Intercourse?" I choked.

"Well, you're the one who got upset when I used the word 'fucking.' Whatever the semantics, this delay seems like a sensible idea to me. What I am proposing is that you consider coming over here and allowing me to touch you so that I can get more comfortable with you. Two," she cocked her head at me, "how in the world did you manage to have sexual relations with several women, plural, if you won't even crawl into bed with one, singular?"

I sat down near her on the bedroll, allowing a few inches of space, rested my forearms on my knees, and sighed. Tried to relax. I can't ever relax.

"Fellow Templars would sometimes travel through Kirkwall," I shrugged, "and twice I must have caught the eye of one of our female members, I suppose. They…initiated it, and it was all very physical, all very friendly. It was nice, but it wasn't…that nice. There was no courting." I looked at her for a moment. "What was number three?"

"Three," she smiled back, "was that you've already slept with me."

"I am certain I would have remembered that," I scoffed.

"Well, it was just sleeping, otherwise I would have come up with another term for sex to make you uncomfortable, but it's true." She shoved my cloak behind her head and leaned back, stretching her legs out behind me.

"When you were going through lyrium withdrawal, I stayed with you. Slept in a chair because I didn't want to leave you alone. About halfway through the night, you picked me up and deposited me in a pile of blankets you'd made on the floor. And then you basically threw an arm and a leg over me and wouldn't let me go."

"You were very large, very warm, and I, uh," she cleared her throat, "had developed what I assumed at the time were unrequited feelings. So I let you hold me and I went to sleep," she concluded hurriedly, looking away, "because I didn't think that you'd ever…well, anyway."

"Move over," I said, and stretched out on my back next to her, pillowing my head on my cloak. She rolled on her side and propped her head up on her elbow.

"After Haven," I told her, as I looked up at the ceiling of the tent, "I used your phylactery to find you. You were half-buried in a snowdrift. You were so, so cold, Evelyn. I…picked you up out of the snow and carried you back to camp. I was so terrified you'd never wake up, that when I let go of you, you'd die. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. The night you were there, I had that same dream, but when I picked you up, you were warm, and I was so…relieved that all I wanted to do was wrap myself around you and go to sleep. It was the best dream I'd had in a long time."

"Evelyn," I looked over at her, "Stay with me?"

"Of course," she replied, and moved closer, pressing herself up against me and pillowing her head on my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her warmth, and we lay there until she flicked her fingers to extinguish the fireflies, and we both went to sleep.


	25. Terribly Romantic Until the Explosion

_A very carefully written letter from Seeker Pentaghast to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Inquisitor:

I regret that you are currently reading this letter, but Leliana insisted on sending Scout Harding to ensure that you were well. I talked her out of a larger unit of soldiers and told her that a simple letter from me would be sufficient to prompt your return.

I also told Leliana that you were exhausted after the events at Adamant, and needed a few days to yourself, but she informed me that we only have one member of the Inquisition capable of closing rifts, and the Commander's plan to drag you off to a lake in Ferelden was selfish and irresponsible. Leliana has grown…harder recently, Inquisitor, more cold. Perhaps when you return you can speak to her. Additionally, Josephine is well at work on the preparations for the masquerade at the Winter Palace, and apparently needs you and Cullen for fittings. So, on behalf of the Inquisition and its Seneschal and Ambassador, I respectfully ask that you and Cullen return immediately to Skyhold.

On behalf of myself, however, I must say that this sounds terribly romantic. He took you to a lake? Did he read you poetry? Did he pledge his everlasting devotion to you? I shall hold my breath in anticipation until you return. I hope you will tell me everything.

Cassandra

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Seeker Pentaghast:_

Cassandra:

The Commander and I will be returning to Skyhold tomorrow morning, accompanied by the contingent of troops who went into Ferelden for supplies.

I will return this message with Scout Harding, and the Commander and I will remain under the watchful eye of the fellow "travelers" who have conveniently camped on the opposite side of the lake. One of whom, I might note, decided he was going to scout our camp for Leliana early this morning and was tossed into the lake after receiving a series of severe electrical shocks from one of several warding glyphs and runes I've placed about the camp to ward off bears.

Luckily the mage accompanying the unit was able to heal her companion, so I hope there is no permanent damage to our spy. The mage and I had an interesting discussion afterwards, and I taught her a spell, which is my personal adaptation of a glyph of repulsion and a lightning bolt—it repels physically along with an electrical shock. You've seen me placing them around camp before, but nothing's ever been stupid enough to wander into one, which is a shame because watching one go off is quite spectacular, if I do say so myself. I didn't know Leliana had embedded mages with her spies—it is really an excellent idea in some cases, and I have some strategic suggestions for her when we return.

Cullen is, of course, livid about the entire affair, and wants to storm back to Skyhold to yell at Leliana, which, it appears to me, would only accomplish her goal of getting us to return as soon as possible. But I do not understand why a delay of just another day is so unacceptable.

As for myself, I need just another day to relax, Cassandra. You were there, you know what happened in the Fade, and you know that if I keep pushing myself, I am going to break. Just let me take a moment, and then I will go back to being the Inquisitor. I need this, and between you and me, I think Cullen does too. When he overextends himself, he suffers more acutely the effects of lyrium withdrawal, and before we left, I observed some potential symptoms of this.

Earlier this morning, after Cullen was grumbling about going back to Skyhold, he mentioned that he has some intelligence about Samson's source of red lyrium in Emprise du Lion. When I return to Skyhold, I will want to make arrangements to go investigate this, so could you and Leliana please begin to look into it?

And that is all the work I am going to do today, Cassandra. It was terribly romantic before Leliana's spy created an explosion and was thrown into the lake, and I promise to tell you all about it when I get back.

Evelyn

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

After I sent a suitably mortified Scout Harding off with my letter, I attempted to play a game of chess with Cullen, the board balanced on a stump, but he was distracted and irritable. I initially thought he might still be angry about the interruption, but after he began to squint in the late morning sunlight, I was worried it was something else.

"Cullen, do you have a headache?"

"I am fine, truly." He sighed and shifted his weight where he sat on the ground. "I work like this all the time. It is not severe."

I stood up and headed for my knapsack.

"I will make you some tea."

"Really, that's not necessary." He looked at me, wincing in the sun.

"Well, Ser, maybe it's not necessary for you, but it will make me feel better." I pulled out my book and began to check some entries. "I spend so little time at Skyhold, and I worry that you don't take care of yourself. Let me?"

"All right," he rolled his eyes, "I will allow you to…fuss."

I smiled at his choice of words, and he allowed me to lead him into his tent, with only one foul look at the camp across the lake. He lay down on his bedroll, with an arm flung across his eyes, while I worked at the table. He let out a large sigh.

"I know it's not perfect, mon chou, but it's not ruined," I said, swirling my finger around in a mug of herbs and water until it was almost boiling. "We can still spend the day together."

He shifted his arm and pried open one eye.

"What did you call me?"

I sat next to him, and laughed. "Technically, I just called you 'my cabbage."

"I didn't know you spoke Orlesian," he grumbled, "and I am not a cabbage."

"I don't speak Orlesian, actually, although I can read it quite well for research purposes." I swirled the tea a bit more. "And I didn't say you were a cabbage, I said you were my cabbage. Sit up so you can drink this."

He sat up, wincing, and took the mug from me.

"What is this?" he asked, giving it a suspicious glare. "It doesn't smell…terrible."

"Elfroot and willowbark to help with your headache, and something from Orlais called mélisse, but it might have another name; I'd have to look it up. It should help you relax."

He sipped at his tea and did not seem displeased.

"So why am I your cabbage, then?"

"I can think of many reasons why you are my cabbage, but I'm not sharing, since I'm obviously never going to call you that again." I was embarrassing myself. "My grandmother," I explained, "was the daughter of an Orlesian duke. It's a form of endearment we used in my family, like…'my sweet' or 'dearest' or…well, you get the idea." I rolled my eyes. "Drink your tea."

"Oh," he said. "well, that's…nice, then." He reached out and threaded his fingers through mine, and slowly finished his mug.

He put it to the side, then began to lay back, holding tight to my hand and attempting to pull me with him.

"You have a headache," I protested.

"Yes," he agreed with a smirk, the scar at the corner of his mouth twitching, "but I'm not dead."

A few minutes later, and I lay next to him, my shirt unfastened, his tunic gone, our hands all over each other. He'd pulled my knee up so my leg was draped over his waist, and he was pressed against me in an extremely…intimate way. When he broke off a very long and, in my opinion, very satisfying kiss, he shifted his weight, grabbed my knee, and rolled me so I was straddling him. I put my hands on his chest and bent down to kiss him again, but as his head hit the pillow, I saw him wince at just that slight impact, and I stopped.

"You," I panted, "still have a headache."

"Don't care," he ground out, moved his hips quite convincingly, and tried to pull me back down.

"Well, I do," I gasped as he moved against me again, and realized that I was not in a good position to make my argument because what he was doing was making my eyes roll back in my head, so I slid off of him and lay on my back, breathing hard. "You need to rest."

He groaned and started to reach for me again, so I snapped, "You're sick-behave yourself!" and pushed him until he lay on his side, away from me. It seemed the least troublesome way for him to be facing, as most of the parts I found to be tempting were on the opposite side. He started to laugh as he complied, but it turned into a hiss and he brought his hand up to the side of his head.

"Ugh, Maker…maybe you are right."

"Of course I am right," I said, and reached down and pulled the blanket over both of us. I hesitated for a second, then said, "Cullen, I'd like to do something that I think might help, but it involves magic."

He was quiet for just a moment, then asked, "What is it?"

"I'd like to make my hand cold and put it on the back of your neck, but I don't want to…touch you with magic without your permission."

Another pause, then he said, "If you think it will help, then I would appreciate it."

"Thank you," I said, kissed him on the shoulder, and pressed a frosty hand to the back of his neck. I could feel his entire body tense, but after a few minutes, he slowly began to relax.

"That feels…nice," he said sleepily.

"Good," I said, and moved closer to him, pressing as much of myself to his back as I could. I had grown accustomed to the sympathetic vibrations of the lyrium in his blood, and…enjoyed the way his body sang to mine, but at that moment, I hated it, and what they had done to him.

He was sick with withdrawal symptoms for the rest of the day, shivering and sweating, retching up half of the tea I managed to get into him, until he fell into a deep sleep around dusk and slept until early that morning. I lay next to him, holding him when I could. When he awoke before dawn, he kissed me, got up and put on his armor, and wrote in his journal for a while. Then he walked out and stood alone at the end of the dock, staring out at the lake.

I left him alone, packing up what pieces of the camp I could by myself. When I saw he had turned to look at me, I walked out and joined him, taking his hand.

"Evelyn—" he began, but I interrupted him.

"It was wonderful, Cullen. Everything was perfect." We held hands on the dock for a few more minutes, then he turned to me.

"Thank you for coming with me," he said, and kissed my hand. "Shall I help you pack the tents?"

"Of course," I said, and we walked back together.


	26. The Best Chapter Yet!

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

We have reached the town of Sahrnia in Emprise du Lion. Winter still holds fast to this area of the Dales, I suppose because it lies so close to the Frostbacks.

There is a large Red Templar presence in the area, so we have had to be cautious in our explorations, and I have never seen rifts like the ones over the frozen river. The demons pour out of them, two and three pride demons at a time, but we still managed to close them.

Sahrnia itself has been under attack by Red Templars for some time, and citizens of the town have gone to work in the nearby quarry and not returned. I spoke with a man named Michel de Chevin who appears to be hunting a desire demon named Imshael that lives in Suledin Keep. The keep is evidently inhabited by Red Templars, but de Chevin does not know if the demon is working for the Red Templars, or vice versa.

There is something going on between the quarry, the Red Templars, and the demon here, and I will investigate further. I have heard the name "Imshael" before, as has Vivienne, but we cannot place it. Can you have one of the Inquisition's mages look into this?

I have no drawing for this letter—it is very dangerous here, and I have barely found the time to write between attacks. My hands are growing cold despite my magic, so I must cut this letter short.

I hope you continue to feel better. The thought of you keeps me warm—

Evelyn

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

The researcher I assigned to look into Imshael tells me that he is one of the Forgotten Ones—ancient, and extremely dangerous demons. Remember that I need to you to look only into the quarry in Emprise du Lion, not fight something like that. I know you will do what is necessary, and I know you have experience with demons, but not one like this. Keep yourself safe.

I personally know the name Michel de Chevin. He is a disgraced chevalier who was once the Empress's personal bodyguard. I have heard there is more to his fall from grace than appears on the surface, and that he is still an honorable man. He could be an asset to the Inquisition as an agent, but is probably not worth the price of conflict with an ancient demon.

We need the information from the mines to combat Samson, and all else is optional, Inquisitor.

I am feeling better and have experienced only a few minor headaches since you left. The tea you made me continues to help, but the thought of you returning safely, and soon, is most helpful of all.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I have cleaned out the quarry, and what I found here was repulsive. People from the town were being fed red lyrium in order to grow it out of their bodies, just as I saw in the perverted future at Redcliffe. We managed to rescue many of them, but there was just cage after cage of these people—it was an extensive operation. We cleaned the whole quarry out and I killed every last one of those bastards who was doing it.

I have attached the letters from Samson that I found in the mine. I think that you and Leliana will hopefully find them to be of some use for locating his weakness. He mentions someone named "Maddox." Is this something I need to know about now?

The Red Templar raids against the town and myself were centered out of Suledin Keep, so after several days of protracted fighting, I raided the keep. I hope you will not be too upset to find out that I fought and defeated the demon Imshael. It appears to have been "tending" to a "garden" of Templars by feeding them red lyrium very slowly and deliberately. It must have been getting its supply of lyrium from the mine nearby, and it needed to be stopped.

The demon, which insisted on calling itself a "choice spirit," if you can believe that, was unable to convince me of anything. You would think that something so incredibly ancient would know better than to offer virgins, plural, to me of all people. None of us would have any idea what to do with each other! It sounded like a terribly awkward arrangement, so I declined and killed the demon. At least it did not attempt to conceal itself in the form of a semi-clothed, beautiful woman in order to seduce me. Dorian says they've done the same to him, as well. We both agree it shows a lack of imagination. He said he might consider the virgins, though, so I suppose there's no accounting for taste, especially with Tevinters.

Forgive me for my jests—I know that you worry. It was a violent, hard-fought battle, and both Varric and Dorian went down more than once. But it's over now, and I have to laugh or I will cry. I always seem to send you letters like this when I fight Templars, don't I? I spoke to a Red Templar there at Suledin, poisoned by lyrium and dying. He told me he'd come to the demon to remove "the red," but even he was too horrified by what the demon asked. He died there, cold on the floor, and I wondered again how many good men and women have been turned into these monsters, and how long it will be before I see someone I know.

Suledin Keep is claimed on behalf of the Inquisition, and we can move our troops in when we are ready. I think it will provide a good base in the Dales, and we will be able to monitor the quarry in case anything suspicious happens again. There is a lot of red lyrium growing here, so our troops will need to be very careful to not be exposed for long periods of time. Keep the deployments short, and make sure they know what the warning signs of lyrium poisoning are. Varric can help with this, if you need him.

Michel de Chevin is on his way back to Skyhold now that everything is resolved here. I hope that the Inquisition can find a place for him.

I will await your word on Suledin Keep, and then come home. I'm sure Josephine is ready for my next fitting for that horrible outfit.

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a sketch of Michel de Chevin, standing by a ballista at the edge of Sahrnia.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

Acknowledged. Troops will be headed to Suledin Keep as soon as possible. We will look into the possibility of destroying the red lyrium.

What Samson is doing, making red lyrium from people, is monstrous. I promise you, we will put an end to him. I have asked Dagna to look into this armor that Samson mentions in his letters, to see if she has any insight. I will speak to you about any results as soon as I have them. I am also looking into the involvement of Maddox in this affair, although I assumed he was dead. I will tell you more of him when you return.

I am glad that you were able to defeat the demon. Creatures like that do not need to remain in the world, and we have an obligation to protect the weak. That the desire demon could not tempt you does not indicate its stupidity, only that you are strong, and have your desires under control.

De Chevin has already arrived here at Skyhold, and it is refreshing to have an officer with so much experience. I believe he has already started to strike up a friendship with some of our young soldiers, and could provide a valuable mentorship role. Josephine and Leliana tell me that he is very handsome, and is also becoming a favorite with the ladies.

I look forward to seeing you in your new outfit. I have never before seen you in a dress, but I'm sure you will look beautiful.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

On my way back now.

I desire lots of things, actually. I am only able to enumerate two right now that do not include you, however: being warm again and taking a bath. None of them have anything to do with Michel de Chevin.

The dress is terrible.

Evelyn

P.S. I was wrong: on closer inspection, those two things I mentioned above do involve thoughts of you.

_[At the bottom of the letter is a quick sketch of a snoufleur emerging from a snowbank.]_

* * *

_From Seeker Pentaghast's personal journal:_

When the Inquisitor and Commander returned from their trip to Ferelden, Leliana was impossible: suggesting excessively violent solutions to problems at the War Table and attempting to send the Inquisitor out into the field unnecessarily. Josephine was very upset about the former, and Cullen grew more stiff and unsmiling than ever about the latter. After one particularly vicious meeting, where she said some nasty things about the fate of the Seeker order and slammed a door, I was about to storm upstairs to confront her in the rookery, when the Inquisitor stopped me.

"I'll go up and talk to her, Cassandra," she said. "I think I know what she is upset about. I'll come see you later—I have a present for you, actually."

I was taking a few swings at a practice dummy in the yard an hour or so later, when the Inquisitor and Varric approached.

"Leliana is still hurting from the loss of Divine Justinia and feeling confused about what happened when I was in the Fade," she said as I lowered my sword, "and then there was the message that strange spirit left her. On top of that, about a week ago, she received a letter that the Divine had sent her."

"How could that be?" I asked. "Divine Justinia died at the Conclave. Did she anticipate her own death?"

"Perhaps," the Inquisitor said. "The letter Leliana received was written years ago, to be sent in the eventuality of the Divine's death. Leliana was upset by the letter, as you might imagine. She was torn and did not know what to do, and was lashing out irrationally. She sends you her apologies. She loved Justinia very much."

"What was in the letter?" I asked, momentarily hopeful that there might be something for me.

"Divine Justina asked Leliana to visit a Chantry that was near to her heart. Beyond that, I don't know," she sighed, "but I will probably accompany Leliana there when we return from Halamshiral. I have much to do following our trip to Winter Palace."

"Hmph," I grunted, "nobody is generous with me when I behave so."

"Well, yes, about that…" Varric stepped forward, a smug look on his smug face.

I glared at her. Why was he here?

"What have you done now?" I asked him, suspiciously.

"A peace offering," Varric said smugly, "The next chapter of Swords &amp; Shields. I hear you're a fan?"

He held the book out to me. Resplendent on the cover was a red-haired warrior woman clad in armor, brandishing a sword, her hair blowing in the wind, the set of her jaw stubborn and beautiful. I looked accusingly at Evelyn.

"This is your doing."

"Absolutely. And I hope you'll lend it to me when you finish."

Varric started to pull the book away.

"Well, if you're not interested, you're not interested," he said. "Still needs editing anyhow." He started to walk away.

"Wait!" I cried.

He chuckled. "You're probably wondering what happens to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter…"

"Nothing should happen to her!" I exclaimed. "She was falsely accused!"

"Well, it turns out the guardsman—" he began.

"Don't tell me!" I grabbed the book out of his hand. Finally!

"This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor," Varric said. "I don't usually give sneak peeks. Tell all your friends about it…if you have any," he added snidely.

"That's right," said the Inquisitor cheerfully, "Perhaps Cullen would like a look at it?"

"I…do consider Cullen my friend," I said, confused.

"Maybe not…all your friends, then. Enjoy the book, Seeker." Varric cleared his throat. "I am but a humble servant to my loyal readers, after all."

And off he went, more snide and smug than ever, but it didn't matter, because I had the book and he was gone.

"Thank you for your help, Inquisitor," I said, grabbing her hand for just a second. "You are a true friend, even if Varric thinks I do not have any. Did you…have a nice trip?"

"It was perfect, Cassandra," she smiled, "and I'll tell you all about it when you finish your book. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to a fitting with Josephine."

It was the best chapter yet!


	27. Enough for Now

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

As I rounded the corner to Josephine's office today, I heard the sound of elevated feminine voices. I paused for a minute when I heard Vivienne's-she has always seemed to enjoy my company, yet...

In the past, she agreed with many of my more conservative viewpoints on mages and Templars, which, in an odd turn of events, has caused me to re-evaluate some of these views. Sometimes hearing your opinions in another's (arrogant, aristocratic) voice is a more effective argument against your attitudes than talking to a person who disagrees completely.

But then I heard the Inquisitor say, "This outfit leaves me far too exposed," so I continued on around the corner because I am, may the Maker forgive me, a weak man. Also, I probably needed to speak with her about the Western Approach.

She was wearing something that had either come from Vivienne's closet, or Vivienne's tailor. I know very little about women's fashion, but it was terrifying. The neckline dipped down almost to her navel but it somehow had large shoulders that stuck out in large, stiff triangles. There appeared to be essentially no back at all, and a long train trailed on the ground behind her. It was made of the horrible yellow-and-green plaid fabric that I had once heard Vivienne announce was 'de rigueur,' and the color made Evelyn look vaguely sick.

"Look, Vivienne, when I move like this," and she twisted to the side a little, "almost everything falls out."

I can attest to the fact that nothing fell out.

"Well, don't move like that, my dear!"

On the one hand, I could see a lot of her figure, which was very nice, but on the other hand, the entire Orlesian court would be able to see it as well. Not to mention the fact that the dress was hideous.

"Vivienne," Evelyn stated firmly, "I appreciate the use of your tailor for this dress, but I have my doubts about its stability. Additionally, it renders a large portion of my torso visible, and my skin is not exactly…unblemished in these areas. I do apologize, but I will not wear it."

"Darling, you must have confidence!" I must have made a noise, as Vivienne turned to me. "Commander! What do you think of this dress?"

"Vivienne," I crossed my arms and frowned, "the Commander of the Inquisition does not have opinions on dresses. Right now I am much more concerned with the water situation at Griffon Wing Keep, and the continued darkspawn raids my troops have experienced in the area. I was searching for the Inquisitor because I need to speak to her on these matters."

Evelyn smiled at me, then. A big, bright, you-came-to-rescue-me smile. My stomach flipped over at how beautiful she was, standing there in that awful dress, and I remembered again that I am in very deep trouble.

I knew I was not going to get away with just talking Inquisition business, so I bowed, and added firmly, "The Inquisitor, as always, looks lovely."

"Commander," said the Inquisitor, grabbing two fistfuls of awful fabric and preparing to step down from the platform where she stood, "How wonderful to see you! I actually had some ideas about the—"

Vivienne's hand shot out and gripped the Inquisitor's arm, preventing her flight, and the older mage raised her eyebrows. "Dear man, do you think anyone does not know that you think the Inquisitor looks lovely? The dress, Commander, the dress."

I sighed and looked at the dress again. Upon closer inspection, I hated it more. And were those…crystals?

"Madame Vivienne," I bowed my most deep, formal bow, and said, "In my official opinion as Commander of the Inquisition, it's horrible."

"Templars!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air, "they know nothing but armor and prayer."

I'd turned to flee with an "Excuse me," thrown over my shoulder, when Josephine, who had been standing to the side helplessly, surged forward with her arms full of a red material, preventing my escape.

"Commander!" she shoved the fabric towards me, "take a look at what we have worked out for you."

I held the garment up. It was red and vaguely military-influenced, with epaulets and a sash.

"Acceptable," I said, shoved it back at Josephine, and began to attempt my escape again.

"Why can't I wear that?" asked Evelyn. "As much as I hate the idea of the Inquisition being an army, if we are looking to prop up Celene and undermine Gaspard, why not emphasize the military aspect of our organization? We can appeal to the chevaliers from a position of strength, which is not, I might mention, what this particular dress establishes."

Vivienne tapped her finger against her cheek, and Josephine chimed in again.

"I think that is an excellent idea, Inquisitor. Perhaps with some matching gloves and—"

"Over-the-knee boots, I think? In a soft neutral to match the gloves and epaulets. Yes," Vivienne nodded, "it could work, but the entire delegation must match."

Josephine looked disappointed. "I had already picked out a nice dress, but I suppose…"

I slowly backed away as they argued and discussed the options, and Evelyn glared at me as I made my escape.

* * *

_A note delivered to Commander Cullen:_

Commander:

Making some progress on the lyrium research, but I need more information. Also, possibly more ink, and one of those meat pies. Can you visit me in the Undercroft? Bring enough for Harritt. Pies, not ink. He doesn't need ink.

Dagna

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal_:

I have barely seen the Inquisitor since she returned from Emprise du Lion, first because Leliana was running me ragged with demands for the army, and then because Evelyn was sequestered with some combination of Josephine, Vivienne, or Leliana, preparing for the masquerade at Halamshiral.

But now that I had the information from Dagna, I needed the Inquisitor for more than personal reasons. I sent her a note asking she see me at her earliest convenience to discuss the information the arcanist had supplied. Evelyn showed up a few hours later, looking exhausted.

"Commander," she nodded at me, and I signed a movement order and handed it off to the waiting messenger, who disappeared quickly. "What do we have?"

This was going to be difficult, and I hoped she did not ask too many questions. I planted my hands down on the desk, and got right to the point.

"No red lyrium, no allies, and soon Samson will have no armor. I hope."

"You hope?"

"Dagna's started work on the red lyrium samples, but she needs more details on the armor. We found orders in the mine. They mentioned Maddox, a name I did not expect to hear." I remembered a quiet man, with a shy smile. Average height. Not a very powerful mage.

"Another voice from your past?"

"In a way. This is…complicated." I paced over to the other side of the room, avoiding her curious look. "Maddox was a mage in Kirkwall's Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. Eventually, Samson was caught—that's why he was cast out of the order," I told the bookshelf. "Maddox was made Tranquil, and became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have…rescued him."

"You made a man Tranquil over a few love letters," she said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"The official charge was—"

"'Corrupting the Moral Integrity of a Templar.' Yes, I know that one personally. The punishment was severe, but now I see I should have been grateful."

I looked directly at her. Up until this point I had consciously avoided thinking about what might have happened to her if she'd been in Kirkwall, because it made me want to vomit. To understand the situation with Maddox, she needed to know what it was like, if she didn't already. "Knight-Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, believe me."

She crossed her arms and turned her back to me, looking up at the ceiling. "I've known mages who have become voluntarily Tranquil, particularly before their Harrowing. They were afraid they wouldn't be able to withstand the demon, or they never wanted magical power in the first place, and were willing to pay the price to give it up in exchange for peace. Tranquility is for mages who cannot control their magic. It is not a punishment."

She looked at me over her shoulder. "Cole came to me the other day, whispered something in my ear, like he does sometimes, someone else's memory. He said, 'Do you remember telling me no? You can't do that now. The Tranquil don't say no to anything.' Some days, days like today, I understand why that sick fuck Anders destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry. The whole thing was rotten, down to its core."

I remained silent. I wondered if today was the day it would be too much. I used to tell the Maker I would give up anything, everything, to atone for who I was before, but I never thought that meant I'd fall in love with a mage and then…lose her. Would that be the price? Was she crying?

She swiped at her eyes, and turned around, asking, "Why would Maddox need saving?"

"When the mages rebelled in Kirkwall, the worst fighting took place at the Gallows, in the Circle itself. I thought Maddox had died in the fighting, or was eking out a living on the streets—a hard fate for a Tranquil in Kirkwall. Samson must have found him. Taken him in."

"Perhaps there's something left of the man Samson used to be."

I pulled my mind back to the matter at hand: whoever he was before, now Samson was torturing people, causing them to die terrible deaths, just to produce more red lyrium for Corypheus. Focus on the anger: no matter what happens, no matter what I lose, we will stop Samson.

"Or he's shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource," I said, unwilling to give Samson any sympathy. "It seems Maddox built Samson's armor for him, and maintains it still. Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments—supplies we can trace."

She nodded. "You'd be looking for various reagents—Dagna probably has a better idea of what they'd be than me, honestly—and certain types of dwarven tools. Varric might actually be able to help you out with that, since he has connections with the Merchant's Guild. He might even be able to help you find out what is being shipped, and where it's going."

I nodded, once, back on firmer footing now that we were back to the plan.

"I can have our men kick down some doors, Inquisitor. Samson's armor might lead us right to his stronghold."

"Good work, Commander." She came around the desk, put her hand up, and ran her fingers along my jaw, her thumb tracing the scar on my mouth. "We'll finish this together, I promise."

I reached up and covered her hand with mine, just for a second, then she smiled, wished me a good evening, and slipped away. She knows for sure now, and she still let me touch her, still wanted to touch me. It was enough for now.

I went back to my desk, picked up a supply request from Caer Bronach, and got back to work.


	28. Beginning to Have Grave Doubts

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

Before the masquerade at the Winter Palace, we spent the evening at a chalet in the country near Halamshiral. It belonged to a friend of Josephine's who also supports the Inquisition. We were offered lodgings by Grand Duke Gaspard, whose intercession was also allowing us to attend the ball, but I deemed this unnecessary. None of us had any desire to experience an "accident" before we could make it to the event, and staying outside of Halamshiral allowed us to ensure our own safety.

After an excruciatingly formal dinner that served a bit as my final exam before the ball-stuffed into a dress, making polite conversation without actually saying anything, holding a wine glass properly—my advisors and I strategized a bit, then retired for the evening.

I found myself drifting down the silent corridors of the estate, clad in a gown and corset and soft kid slippers. My posture had changed—head up, shoulders back, glide forward—because of what I wore and where I was. Terribly familiar, and I did not like it. Made me feel maudlin, and I hate that.

Seeking, perhaps, to banish thoughts of the past with ones of the present (and possibly, the future?), I knocked on Cullen's door.

He looked surprised and vaguely uncomfortable that I was standing out front of his room.

"Inquisitor! I…uh," he began uncertainly. Behind him, an elven valet prepared his wardrobe, shooting me a quick glance under his lashes. Cullen didn't want to invite me inside. People would talk, I suppose.

"Commander," I said graciously, "I was hoping that you would join me for a walk about the grounds, to discuss the ball tomorrow."

"Yes, of course, that would be very…" he looked over his shoulder at the servant, and I leaned in.

"He'll finish up and leave when he's done," I said in a low voice. "You don't need to talk to him or tell him where you're going. Just let him do his job."

"That would be very nice. I'll just grab my cloak." He returned in a moment, his big furry garment contrasting sharply with the embroidered tunic and breeches he'd worn to dinner.

I threaded my arm through his elbow, he placed his hand over mine, and we walked down the corridor that led to the gardens. Glide, glide, through a hall of mirrors and windows. I looked at our reflection in the glass. For a moment, I looked like the dream I'd had for myself when I was ten: a lady in a beautiful dress, walking with a handsome suitor. The style of the dress was different than I'd imagined, of course, and the suitor…

"Cullen," I glanced over at him, "you look like a chevalier being attacked by a wolverine."

"Yes, well," he reached up and patted his furry mantle, "at least it's warm, which is more than I can say for that cape Vivienne gave me. You look…very nice, and certainly more comfortable than me. I put on armor every day and I can't quite figure out how this thing you're wearing is put together," he said, eying the laces along my shoulder. "Your hair is incomprehensibly complicated. And you're moving differently."

I greatly preferred this suitor to the fantasy one, as scarred and furry as he was.

As we traversed the corridor, I trailed a fingertip down the mirrors, leaving trails of frost that grew and merged and separated in a wonderful geometry.

"Normal frost forms out of water that exists in the air, but magical frost is different. It can exist anywhere, essentially pulled out of the Fade. I've even summoned spikes of ice in the Western Approach. It is…beautiful, and strange."

"We had a hall like this at my parents' estate in Ostwick," I explained. "Mirrors down one side, windows down the other. It would grow very cold over the winter, and I would breathe on the panes of glass and watch the condensation from my breath form frost. And as I grew older…well, you know the story."

"Your magic manifested itself?"

"No tapestries on fire, no explosions, nothing violent, just this." The mirrors frosted over with whorls and fronds and spikes, all formed with an aristocratic wave of my hand.

"I told my parents I was 'painting' one spring, and I showed them the mirrors. They were very devout, so of course they were horrified, and sent me to the Circle directly."

We reached the end of the corridor, and turned out into the garden. The air was chilly—spring had come to Ferelden, but it was still at least a month away here. The snow had melted, but the garden was bare.

"Right now, you look like you belong here," he said quietly.

We walked down a hill decorated with marble statues and benches.

"You left for the Templars when you were thirteen, but I am sure you could at least tell me a bit about crop rotation." He shrugged and nodded.

"I know of this place, I am from here, but I do not belong here. I belong," I took a deep breath, "in a library. Or, a classroom. In times of need, I belong on a battlefield. I suppose, when the time comes, if I must, I will return to a Circle, continue my research. It can provide all of those things."

I shivered, and he quickly unclasped his cloak and threw it over my shoulders. As he fastened it at my throat, I caught a glimpse of his expression. He looked…livid.

"You are not going back to a Circle," he said, his voice clipped. "I am going to take you back your room, and tomorrow you will play the ridiculous Orlesian Game and help stabilize the situation here. And then, I don't know how, but we will stop Corypheus. And after that, I don't know what will happen, but I do know that you are not going back to a Circle."

He started to pull me along through the garden, walking briskly up the path, back to the chalet, but I tugged my arm free. Breathing hard, I put a hand on my abdomen.

"I literally can't move…that fast in this…thing," I panted. "The corsetry drastically decreases…my lung capacity…and range of motion."

He drew a dagger from his boot, pulled the cloak aside—"I wouldn't…" I said—and without a word, cut through the laces that ran up the back of my dress. It started to sag. I looked around, located a garden bench in thankfully close proximity, and sat down immediately.

He stood in front of me, dagger still in his hand, breathing through his nose. I kept one hand on the bodice of the dress and the other pushing down the skirt. I wore a thin chemise beneath the whole thing, but this kind of Orlesian dress had petticoats and a hoop, along with a skirt and sleeves that hooked onto the external corset shored up with boning. Without the lacing of the corset, everything else weighed it down and distorted the shape of the skirt.

So there I sat, on a bench in the secluded garden of an Orlesian chalet, my hair half-falling down, my dress essentially cut off in a moment of passion, and my lover standing before me, his chest heaving, brandishing what had turned out to be a very sharp dagger. Also there was a full moon. I keep trying to tell this man that I am not a noblewoman, but apparently he had set out to seduce me like I was one. I won't lie, it had worked, too. My heart was beating very fast.

"Cullen, I'm sorry to tell you this, but while you have made it easier for me to breathe…you have seriously damaged the structural integrity of my dress."

"What?" he snapped. He slid the dagger back into his boot with a practiced motion and straightened up, still panting a bit. "That thing was suffocating you."

"Just…oh, come here," I said, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down in front of me. He knelt between my legs, his hands braced on my thighs, and I kissed him, hard, ran my tongue around his ear, and bit his neck. He growled deep in his throat, moved his hands up my arms beneath his cloak, and pulled the front of my bodice down. The effects of the cool night air and his intense gaze on my breasts were quite stimulating, and when he licked the tip of one and then pulled it into his mouth, I nearly slid off of the bench.

Starting at my ankle, he slowly ran his hand up the inside of my leg, spreading my legs wider, pushing up layers of crinoline and tulle. His hand got to about mid-thigh, to the top of my stocking, before the stiff hoop skirt I was wearing started to interfere, pushing its way between us awkwardly. He shoved it down, but because of the way I had shifted myself on the seat, its predilection for a conical shape caused it to pop up again. He finally pushed it down flat and wedged it between my legs, probably bending it beyond all repair, then rested his forehead on my chest. He started to laugh softly.

I wrapped my arms around him, buried my hands in his hair, and started to laugh as well.

"I am beginning to have grave doubts about women's clothing, Evelyn," he said to my chest.

"Well, that's because you were cheating before, my cabbage." I kissed the top of his head. "All the women you've been with were probably wearing armor, and you know how to take that off."

"Also, we are outside, aren't we?"

"That is true. I found the full moon to be romantic."

He turned his head and squinted an eye at the moon for a moment, then sighed.

"I lost my temper. And now, we need to get you back inside, and your dress is…"

"Ruined. You ruined it, I might observe. And this fur thing you wear does not cover me enough to make it back inside unobserved. So go back to my room and tell my lady's maid that you need my cloak, the blue wool, and that she is dismissed for the evening."

"Won't she think that is…unusual?"

"Yes, because generally speaking, it takes another person to get me out of this dress, but you have removed that particular hurdle. If you send her away, she is going to think that you will be the one to help me undress, which, I would argue, is already technically correct. And, no matter what happens, she will notice the dress has been damaged, because while we are here at the chalet, it is her job to maintain my wardrobe."

He grimaced, and I added, "If you thought gossip spread quickly in the barracks, then you've never seen the speed at which things fly through the servants' quarters."

He sighed, kissed me one last time, pushed himself up, and headed back to the chalet. When he returned with the garment, I kept both hands concealed beneath my cloak in order to hold up my poor deconstructed dress. He walked me back to my room, through the hall of mirrors and windows, and kissed me goodnight, all in silence.

I wonder if he is still angry, but I am unsure as to what I said that was so upsetting. Obviously, Cullen does not want me to return to the Circle, but he himself has voiced support for the reforming the institution. It simply seems an inevitability to me, something I must accept and not rail against in an unproductive fashion.

However, I am pleased at least that he kissed me goodnight in front of my room, even if there was no one around to see. Perhaps he is growing less self-conscious about being involved with me.


	29. Mine to Keep

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

The Inquisitor's appearance at the Winter Palace was, I'm told, a smashing success. Unsurprisingly, I was miserable for most of the affair.

Leliana and Josephine were in their element, forging alliances, slicing opponents to pieces with only their wits. I am almost certain I saw Leliana make a chevalier cry, although it is hard to tell for sure with those ridiculous masks.

From what I could tell, the Inquisitor did a passable job. She made her way slowly through the palace, saying incredibly meaningless things to everyone she encountered, Empress Celene included, and they all seemed to respond favorably to the nonsense tripping from her tongue. I don't like it in this world, and I don't like who she has to be when she is here.

If I am honest with myself, it is because it reminds me that she is not mine to keep.

I stationed myself near a punch bowl, with my back to the wall, so I could observe her progress and watch for any potential assassination attempts. Unfortunately, I somehow miscalculated my position, and found myself surrounded by courtiers, who interrupted my line of sight on the Inquisitor and were generally annoying.

The first time she came by, I did not even see her approach, as I was being harassed by an elegant man wearing a large paisley hat and a particularly ridiculous mask of some kind of cat.

"Are you married, Commander?" he asked.

"Not yet," I replied, cautiously, "but I am…already taken."

"Still…single, then?" he cocked an eyebrow and smiled, while all of the other courtiers around us giggled into their fans.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see Evelyn stepping gracefully around Lord Paisley Cat.

"Excuse me, Lord Monsanto," she said in that slow, aristocratic voice, "Commander, may I prevail upon you for a moment of your time?"

"Inquisitor! Did you need something?" I said, desperately.

"Inquisitor!" cried one of the more insistent courtiers, "Surely you do not seek to deprive us of the Commander's presence! After all, he is most…diverting."

I took her elbow and we stepped away.

One of them called, "When you return, you must dance with me, Commander! You cannot stand about all evening!"

"The sooner we track down the infiltrator, the better," I muttered, turning my back to the evil mob.

"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?" she asked.

"Not yet," I scowled. "It would be easier if people would stop talking to me. Other people. Not you. I—"

As I spoke to her, someone behind me grabbed two generous handfuls of my backside. I whirled about and cast a scathing look at a giggling courtier.

"Did you just—grab my bottom?"

"I couldn't help myself!" she laughed, and retreated back to a group of similarly dressed women, who all whispered together and looked at me.

"You've attracted a following," the Inquisitor said, with a raised eyebrow. "Who are all these people?"

"I don't know, but they won't leave me alone." Shifting my position had been a tactical error. I placed my back firmly against the wall again, between a large potted plant and a suit of armor, to hopefully protect against any future flanking maneuvers.

"Not enjoying the attention, then?" She dipped her head and looked up at me through her eyelashes. Was she flirting with me?

"Hardly. Anyway, yours," I cleared my throat, lowered my voice, "yours is the only attention worth having."

"I don't suppose you'd save a dance for me?" I had never seen that expression on her face before. On one hand, having her look at me like that was certainly…alluring. On the other hand, I preferred her normally open gaze, telling me something incomprehensible about a spell she'd modified, or the sharp glances she sent across the chessboard.

"No, thank you," I answered without thinking.

"Oh." A frown.

"No! I didn't mean to—Maker's breath! I've been asked that question so many times I'm rejecting it automatically. I'm not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls."

She smiled at me, then. It was the honest smile I was used to, and it made me feel better, knowing that despite all the masks, she was still at least one real thing at this ball.

The words, "Such a beautiful man. Completely wasted on her, of course. Can you believe, the Inquisitor is a mage? And even worse, downright plain," drifted over to us from beyond the plant. I started, and would have walked around the plant to confront the speaker, but Evelyn put her fingertips lightly on my arm and I stopped.

"Let it go, Cullen." She murmured, "It is all just part of the Game. In a few hours, everyone will be feeling very differently, but I'm afraid you'll have to hold out for a while longer."

I sighed, "I await your signal," and watched her glide off into the crowd.

I didn't see her again for several hours. Some chevaliers came by to talk to me and were able to shove the hangers-on out of the way in order to hear some war stories, but they eventually left and the swarm returned. Later, there was a stir, and my escorts actually detached themselves from me to stand at the edge of the balcony and watch the dancers below.

"Can you believe Grand Duchesse Florianne is dancing with the Inquisitor?"

"Who would have thought she'd be such an elegant dancer?"

"The Trevelyans have an impeccable pedigree, for Free Marchers."

"Did you hear about the contremps in the servants' quarters? They say there was fighting!"

"Servants always fight, my dear. Elves are so melodramatic, but such gossip is beneath my notice."

"Well, I consider her to be quite striking! Not all women must rely on excessive displays of décotellage, especially after the first blush of youth is gone."

"I didn't see you complaining when that Desjardins woman walked by earlier, Lord Monsanto."

While I was tempted to go and watch her dance, I took the opportunity to move away from my plant and armor for potentially safer territory. Sadly, I didn't get far.

"Oh, Commander," called one of them, "has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful eyes?"

"Several times tonight, actually." There was no escape. Back to the plant. When one idiot departed, another took their place. I was reminded of fighting demons outside of the Breach: an endless stream of opponents, grinding you down via exhaustion. In retrospect, I am being melodramatic, but I cannot emphasize how incredibly irritating the whole thing was.

And so I stood there, harassed, groped, and complimented, until Josephine came by to rescue me.

"Commander," she said graciously, "would you do me the very great pleasure of allowing me to introduce you to my younger sister? She's just over there, on the other side of the ballroom."

"I would be honored." I bowed—my backside shielded by the ever-loyal plant—and gratefully followed her away from the mob.

We all met in a secluded alcove. I noticed that the Inquisitor's hair had changed. Her elegant coiffure was gone and had been replaced with the usual simple braid, which indicated to me that she had been involved in something more vigorous than dancing—possibly the fight in the servants' quarters.

She'd been gathering evidence all evening, and wanted the opinion of the Inquisition's advisors on the next step.

I advised her to support Grand Duke Gaspard, of course, as he seemed the most sensible choice. In the coming months, the Inquisition will need the support of the army of Orlais, and he was the man most likely to bring that necessary strength. Evelyn always says she does not want the Inquisition to be an army, but sheer force was what we needed at Adamant, and we will need even more in the future, as Corypheus's power grows.

We each gave her our opinions—Josephine continuing to support Celene, with Leliana, to my surprise, in favor of potentially allowing Celene to die in order for Briala to take power. I have not known Leliana long enough to say if this ruthlessness is something new, but Josephine looked shocked, and she has known the Seneschal longer than any of the rest of us.

"You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision," pushed Leliana. "You must support someone, or all is lost."

The Inquisitor began tapping her foot impatiently. For that moment she was no longer the elegant noble, but instead the strategist, and I could see her twisting things around in her head. She would probably say she was "analyzing evidence."

"It doesn't fit together yet." She crossed her arms. "I need more information, more ways to see what is really happening."

"If there is truly proof Gaspard is in league with Corypheus, that would be a start," I suggested.

"What did Duchesse Florianne tell you?" Leliana asked.

"She said Gaspard's mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing. That he knows about the assassination."

"Which could be a trap," I interjected.

"Or a lead," Josephine, always the optimist, said. "Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues."

"Then get me access, and Cullen, in the meantime, get your soldiers into position." Finally, some orders to follow, something I could actually do.

"At once," I agreed. "Be careful, Inquisitor."

I did as she asked, and our men were moved into place to anticipate an attack, but as the appointed hour for the Empress's speech grew near, Evelyn did not reappear. Finally, to my immense relief, she emerged from the door to the Royal Wing, pulling her shirt into place.

"Thank the Maker you're back!" I nearly ran up to her. "The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?"

"Wait here, Cullen," she smiled. "I'm going to go have a word with the Grand Duchesse."

"What?" I snapped. "There's no time. The Empress will begin her speech at any moment!"

She walked down onto the ballroom floor, straight up to where Gaspard, Briala, and Florianne stood on the dais at the top of the stairs, waiting for Celene to appear on the balcony above.

"We owe the court one more show, Your Grace," Evelyn called up, her voice echoing up from the marble floor. The crowd gasped and tittered at the strange interruption.

Florianne turned around, her face serene beneath her mask.

"Inquisitor."

"The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile." Evelyn began to stalk up the stairs towards the Grand Duchesse, who backed up slowly towards the balcony. "This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you'd lost control."

"Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?" she asked, her confident voice contrasting with her retreat.

"I seem you recall you saying," Evelyn spoke loudly enough for all to hear, "that 'All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.'"

She put her hands behind her back, no longer an elegant noblewoman but instead the leader of the Inquisition, and circled around Florianne.

"When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance." The words were polite, but the tone was menacing. As the Inquisitor spoke, Empress Celene had emerged onto the balcony and was listening intently.

"It's so easy to lose your good graces," the Inquisitor spat, circling even closer. "You even framed your brother for the murder of a council emissary. I have collected…extensive evidence of your treachery."

"It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…all your enemies under one roof."

"This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?" Florianne looked pleadingly up at Celene.

"That will be a matter for a judge to decide, Cousin," Celene said coldly.

Celene's guards descended towards Florianne, and despite her protests, Gaspard and Briala walked away. The Inquisitor stood in front of her, blocking any escape.

"You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You're just the last to find out."

The guards drug the sobbing woman away, and Evelyn, every inch of her the Inquisitor, looked up at the Empress.

"Your Imperial Majesty. I think we should speak in private. Elsewhere."

The court was in an uproar while they were gone. Several ladies, possibly overwhelmed by the tension and the constraints of their garments, fainted. The Council of Heralds drew together, guards surrounding them. Frantic trips were made to the punch bowl, and everyone was fanning themselves. It was…absurd.

Leliana came up next to me, a speculative expression on her face.

"Your Inquisitor never ceases to amaze me, Commander," she said. "Shall we see how this shakes out?"

"She's not my Inquisitor, Leliana," I said coldly.

"Isn't she?" she smiled sadly. "Well, that's a shame. Perhaps—"

She was interrupted by Celene and Briala's return to the balcony. Celene gave a triumphant speech about a new era of cooperation, bestowing a title upon the elf at her side, and, to everyone's surprise, Briala spoke as well.

"This is interesting," Leliana whispered in my ear, "the Inquisitor appears to have brokered some kind of agreement that includes the elves." In that moment, I had even less concern for politics than ever. I am sure no one else would be able to tell, but as she stood at the Empress's side, I could see Evelyn was exhausted.

"When we get back to Skyhold," I whispered back to Leliana, "remind me to buy a plant."

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

I had thought to escape the crush of the crowd and the overwhelming smell of perfume when I slipped onto the balcony, but I was quickly followed by Morrigan, Celene's "occult advisor," or whatever she calls herself. Celene has made us the dubious gift of Morrigan's services and expertise. The woman hinted to me about the possibilities of ancient magic and lore, and honestly, at any other moment, I might have been interested in exchanging information. Just then, though, she seemed like just another mage tampering with unknowable forces, and after the evening I'd had, I was just…done. I was polite as possible, and she went away pleased. I was mostly pleased that she'd gone away.

As she left, she brushed past Cullen, giving him a searching glance, but continued on her way. As soon as she was gone, I leaned up against the rail of the balcony and sighed.

"There you are! Everyone's been looking for you." He approached, and leaned on the balcony next to me. "Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?"

"I'm just worn out. Tonight has been…very long."

"For all of us," he sighed. "I'm glad it's over."

He reached up and rubbed my shoulder. I covered his hand with mine, just for a moment.

"I know it's foolish, but I was worried for you tonight."

"Thank you, Cullen. Leliana wants me to go to the Chantry in Valence with her when we are done here," I sighed. "We will probably set out from the chalet tomorrow." I wanted to go on another walk through the garden with him, perhaps talk about what had upset him so much the day before, but…

He nodded, no sign of disappointment in his face. I am the Inquisitor and he is the Commander, and we do what we must.

Strains of music and laughter poured out of the ballroom. Who could blame them for celebrating? Stability would hopefully return to Orlais, and none of them needed to lift a finger to make it happen.

We stood in silence for a minute or two, until Cullen suddenly said, "I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask."

I turned to him in surprise. He bowed to me and extended his hand, and asked, smiling a most sincere, vulnerable smile, "May I have this dance, My Lady?"

I took his hand, my heart beating very quickly.

"Of course! I thought you didn't dance." He pulled me flush against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. I didn't have the heart—or the motivation—to tell him that our bodies were pressed together most improperly for the waltz.

"For you, I'll try." And he did, continuing to hold me far too close. I could see his pulse beating in his neck as he counted the steps, and I realized then that we were clearly visible from the ballroom, and he didn't care. So I waltzed with my suitor at the Empress's ball, and even though my hair was a mess and I had someone else's blood under my fingernails, it was more wonderful than I had ever dreamed, even when I was ten.

I am, of course, quite desperately in love with him, and have been for some time. I think there is a chance that he might return my regard, but perhaps one must embark upon such confessions for their own sake, not seeking reciprocation. At that moment, though, I was too tired to broach the subject, and leaving for Valence Cloister the very next day, so it had to wait.

When the music died down again, he held me for several seconds too long, then released me.

He cleared his throat, and asked, "Shall I have Josephine pull the carriage around to take you back to the chalet?"

I nodded, suddenly groggy, and added, "Would you come with me?" He hesitated for a moment, and I added, "Cullen, I'm thirty-four years old, my parents don't care about my virtue, and I am exhausted. Please?"

He smiled, then, said, "Absolutely, Inquisitor," and made his way off to Josephine.

On the way home, I crawled into his lap. He stroked my back and told me that he wanted a plant, so I said I'd bring him something up from the garden, and then fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. When we arrived, he carried me inside and tucked me into bed. I hope my maid was scandalized, but she's probably seen much worse.


	30. A Lot of Commotion and Noise

Author's Note:

The Randy Dowager welcomes her loyal readers to Chapter 30, wherein our inquisitive Inquisitor helps her loyal Commander with some long-overdue paperwork. But is it really work, when you love what you do? The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step. The Lady herself says, "More experienced readers may find this positively pedestrian, but still, NSFW. This chapter is rated four scarves fluttered in shock out of five." -RD

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

We should arrive at Valence Cloister in the next week or so. I do not know how long we will remain there, but you should be able to send any correspondence in that direction and it will reach me.

After we have finished our business here, we will take a ship across the Waking Sea, which should shave several weeks off of our trip. I am told that there are pirates patrolling in the area, but Leliana thinks it is a good idea.

I do not know if word would have reached you by now, but Leliana and I are now traveling by ourselves. After we left Orlais, she grew impatient with the slow pace of the guard you sent with us, and we are continuing on to Valence alone. Admittedly, your troops were very…overprotective. Their commander was a chevalier; a very nice man, but he was very dedicated to the comfort of the noblewoman and Chantry sister I think he assumed he would be escorting. Imagine his consternation when he got me and Leliana!

The poor man used to try to put me on and take me off my horse, which was especially strange considering that he was absolutely terrified of the fact that I am a mage. I think when he attempted this maneuver, he actually put on an extra pair of gloves over his usual gauntlets.

The breaking point was when he declared his intention to obtain a carriage for us, so that we ladies would no longer have the indignity of travelling on horseback. Leliana snapped and may have thrown a dagger at a tree near his head. I managed to smooth things over and in a few minutes, he was gone. I may have convinced him that it was his own idea, so when he shows up with a story about how he and his troops were too elite for the Inquisition to use on a simple escort mission, well, that one's my fault.

Leliana is good company on the road, actually. By this point, I'm pretty proficient on a horse, and we've been able to easily evade any trouble that might have come our way. She tells lovely stories around a campfire, and we have had many interesting talks about politics and such. She often tries to steer the conversation over to you, however, and I steer it right back away.

As I was drawing by the fire, she began talking to me about how particularly handsome Michel de Chevin is, "but not nearly as handsome as our dear Commander, don't you agree?"

"The Commander is very handsome, it's true."

She sighed and flipped over onto her stomach in front of the fire, propping her head up on her hands, and smiled at me. "One of my people told me that the dress you wore to dinner the night before Halamshiral was positively destroyed."

"That is true, but it wasn't a particularly structurally sound dress in the first place. And your maid was terrible at dressing hair—it fell down almost immediately."

"Why won't you talk to me about your relationship with him?" She frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. "He won't tell me anything either."

"Leliana," I said gently, "I have no desire to have any relationship—that I may or may not have—with the Commander to somehow be used to manipulate me in the future. If I thought I could tell you something, just in friendship, without having it saved up for later, to push or pull at just the right moment, then maybe I would. But I am not a tool for you to use."

"Is that truly what you think of me?"

"Can you tell me that I'm wrong?"

She rolled onto her back, and looked up at the stars. "I'll have to think about it, I suppose. Shall I take first watch?"

"As you wish," I said, and went into my tent.

A strange conversation. Perhaps I was a bit harsh with her, but it was the truth, as I see it. I would be happy to be wrong.

I miss you.

Evelyn

_[Included is a drawing of Leliana, sitting relaxed by the campfire.]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

Skyhold is strange without you here. Your usual group of travelling companions appear to be enjoying the time off in a variety of ways. Varric has invited me to several games of Wicked Grace at the tavern, which I have avoided. He informed me that "pining for my lady" too much will prematurely age me, but I think I had enough social contact at the Winter Palace to last for the next several years. I had a terrible headache a few days ago, so I took half a day off and asked Backwall to build a bird feeder and put it in the garden, so I could look at the birds when I play chess with Dorian. Early spring is always the leanest time of year for seeds and fruit and such.

Apparently word of your success at Halamshiral has reached some of your most distant relatives. Josephine had dealt with this matter quietly in the past, but now one branch of your family has asked you to step in and mediate some kind of conflict that has escalated from an insult over some cows to a battle between several hundred soldiers. Please advise as to the course of action you'd like us to take. I personally would recommend sending in troops to contain the fighting, as I'm sure you're not surprised to hear.

Hopefully the break will be good for Leliana. Your chevalier guard has been sent off to the Western Approach to lend his invaluable expertise at Griffon Wing Keep. I've told Rylen to give him a duty befitting his station and importance. Perhaps he can work on cleaning up that disgusting well you hate so much?

I miss you too. Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

We are setting out from Valence Chantry today. I am told the trip will take between one and two weeks total, depending on the conditions on the Waking Sea.

Leliana has retrieved her message from Divine Justinia, and I hope it will bring her a measure of peace. In the end, this is one story that is perhaps not mine to tell, so you must ask her about it personally. I hope she will prove to be just a bit less…ruthless in times to come.

Move the troops in. My relatives are idiots.

Yours truly,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the page is a strangely geometric drawing of a rose blooming on a dead, thorny branch.]_

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's journal:_

The trip back from Valence took significantly less time than anticipated. Leliana and I arrived at Skyhold unannounced and with very little fanfare other than the search for a groom to take our horses. We bid each other goodnight, then I snuck upstairs to my quarters for a quick bath and went over to check on Cullen.

Despite the fact that it was very late, he was still up, dispensing orders to his soldiers. I slipped in behind a messenger and leaned against the wall, content to watch and rest for a moment.

"Rylen's men will monitor the situation," he was saying to a soldier.

"Yes, Ser. We'll begin preparations at once."

He nodded and signed off on a document. "In the meantime, we'll send soldiers to—" he looked up and saw me, and hesitated for a moment, "—assist with the relief effort."

"That will be all."

They saluted and headed off to their respective duties, filing past me with a salute and an "Inquisitor." I should probably be glad they've actually started to acknowledge me while I'm in Cullen's office. He walked behind them, closing the door and leaning on it with both hands.

"You're back," he said softly.

"I am. You look exhausted."

He turned his head to look at me, then let it drop back between his arms again. "There's always something more, isn't there?"

"Wishing we were somewhere else?"

He laughed, "I barely found time to get away before."

"It's funny," I observed, leaning up against the wall beside him, "I've been wishing I was back at Skyhold for weeks. Things take me away, but they leave you here. It just goes on and on, doesn't it?"

"This war won't last forever. When it started, I hadn't considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now." He pushed off the wall, paced over near his desk and turned to look at me.

"What do you mean?" I asked as I approached, and stood next to him. He kept moving and looking away from me, and I began to worry.

"I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won't want to move on…" He reached out and ran his hand along the side of my face, smiling. "Not from you." I leaned into his hand, extremely relieved to hear him say that.

His smile faded, though, and he looked to the side. "But I don't know if you…that is, if you, ah…" He turned and walked to his desk, nervously straightening the pile of papers there.

I wondered if this had something to do with my mention of returning to the Circle a few weeks earlier. Being in the chalet, tied up in that dress, had reminded me of how I had been moved from one form of confinement to another, castle to Circle. That he might want something else for me, for us, had seemed…what had he himself said once, on the battlements? "It seems too much to ask?" Unrealistic to wish for. But if he did want that…of course I did too. Of course.

"Cullen," I said, sliding myself between him and the desk, "Do you need to ask?"

"I suppose not." He lowered his voice and moved closer to me, "I want—"

I put my hand on the desk to brace myself and managed to knock off a glass, which fell to the floor and shattered.

He looked at the wreckage, looked at me, then shoved everything off the desk, sending it to the floor in a crash of glass and flurry of papers. I inched backwards onto the top of the desk, and he followed, pushing me down and climbing on top of me. As he positioned himself between my legs, I put both hands on his face and kissed him, hard.

I quickly unclasped my shirt and wiggled out of it, throwing it to the floor. He broke off our kiss and started removing his gauntlet one-handed, biting each fingertip to tug it off. I reached down awkwardly and started undoing the laces on one of my boots, managing to get it loose enough to kick away, just as his glove came off and he shoved his bare hand under my breast band—

"Maker, Cullen," I gasped, "are those doors locked?"

"Huh?" he said, pulling his head up from my neck, looking dazed.

"Cullen, lock the fucking doors!"

He rolled off of me, rummaged through the discarded contents of the desk on the floor, and came up with a ring of keys. As he hurried to lock all three doors, I rushed to remove my other boot and threw it after the other, and was reaching around my back to loosen my breast band when he returned, crawled back between my legs, and started kissing me again. He pulled a familiar dagger out of his boot as I continued to struggle with the band.

"Hold still," he rasped, and sensibly cut the interfering undergarment off of me, dropping the weapon into the growing pile of debris by the desk. He put his hands and mouth on my breasts, which, while absolutely wonderful, was also extremely distracting.

I lost a few minutes there, thoroughly engaged in kissing and touching, until I remembered my ultimate goal, which was to divest myself of all clothing. This was rendered even more difficult by the fact that he was rubbing himself against me. It made me not want to move and dislodge him, but ultimately I decided it also made me want to remove my pants even more, so I began my attempt.

I reached down between us and unfastened the front, and had just managed to ease them over my hips when he pulled back.

"Maker, Evelyn, what are you doing?" he panted.

"Taking…off my pants?" This seemed obvious. "If you would just—" I pushed up at him a bit, and he shifted his weight long enough for me to remove one leg of my pants. I shoved the remaining leg off with my opposite foot.

He held very still for a long moment, breathing through his nose. Beneath him, I was quite thoroughly naked, and on top of me, he was almost entirely clothed. His breastplate pressed down into my chest, cool at the edges, warm where it was touching me. The contrast between us, and the lack of movement, made me feel hot and restless, so I trailed my foot down the side of his leg and moved my hips experimentally until I was rubbing against a spot that felt good, and I gasped.

He moved very quickly, then, grabbing both my legs and pulling me down, so my backside was at the edge of the desk. He knelt, slung my knees over his shoulders so my legs were spread open, and started to lick where they met.

Up until the Conclave, I had sort of halfheartedly wondered why, beyond simple animalistic drive, someone would be all that interested in taking a lover. It seemed like a lot of commotion and noise for something that, generally speaking, one could accomplish oneself. I had felt an overwhelming desire to be intimate with this particular man, who I care deeply for, so I'd assumed the end result would be certainly more pleasurable than a solo endeavor, but I was not prepared for what actually transpired when I reached my peak.

It was if my entire body—my mind, my skin, all the places he was touching me at that moment—were suffused with the most intense, white-hot singularity of pleasure. At the same time, he slid his finger inside of me and I instinctively arched my back, cried out, and started to buck my hips. He pushed them back down and held them against the desk, and continued to lick me until I collapsed into a small, twitching puddle of myself.

"Well," I said shakily in a minute or two, "that was unexpected." I could feel his smile against my inner thigh.

He stood up then, reached down for my hands, and pulled me into a sitting position. I lazily slung my arms around his neck and kissed him for a long time, wrapping my legs around him again. Slowly, my brain began to feel functional, just as he started to remove one of my legs from his waist.

"Where are you going?" I asked, and began to unfasten his cloak. "Stay right here. This is good."

He seemed nonplussed.

"Evelyn, I…on the desk?!" I dropped the cloak and began to explore with the goal of unfastening his breeches. I undid a belt, and his sword clattered to the floor.

"Don't you want to?" I asked, as I felt around, trying to figure out what was going on down there. He had a frustrating amount of things at his waist, and while he'd shown me how to remove his armor, I hadn't asked about his pants. An error, obviously.

"What? I mean, yes, but…we can't."

I stopped trying to take off his pants, looked down at where I had my legs wrapped around him.

"Factoring in basic human anatomy, your standing height, my position relative to you, and the dimensions and sturdy construction of this desk, I think there is a very good chance that we can. Please?"

He had closed his eyes and was breathing very hard. Ever since he kissed me on the balcony, I have observed that Cullen appears to have somewhat of a tipping point. He seems to desire me very intensely, and will suddenly be very passionate, but always worries and pulls back. I had no real knowledge of how to trigger such a reaction, so I decided to talk to him about the situation sensibly instead.

I unwrapped my legs from around his waist, allowing them to dangle off the edge of the desk, and leaned back on my hands. He opened his eyes, slightly unfocused, and looked at me.

"Allow me to tell you two good reasons why you should fuck me on your desk. One—"

He grabbed me roughly by the waist with one arm, pulling me forward again, and unfastened his breeches.

On a side note, I really need to figure out the best words to refer to our respective body parts in these situations. The words I know are either horribly clinical or downright ridiculous. Varric's books are always filled with "throbbing masculine swords" and such, which is less useful, even, than the word "penis," which is generally something a man talks to a healer about if he's having functionality issues.

At any rate, he opened his breeches, pulled me close, and slowly pushed himself deep inside of me. It felt very good, and I cried out, and he stopped, eyes closed again, gritting his teeth. Most frustrating.

"I…really want you to do that again." I said shakily. "Please…?" Luckily, that proved to be sufficient.

He started to move inside me more quickly, tightening his arm around my waist and panting in my ear. The sound was very arousing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist again and held on to his shoulders. He slid his hand between us where our bodies met, and as he continued to fuck me—that's a good word, I still like that one—he rubbed me there, too. I was quite surprised when I came again. As I moaned and spasmed, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking it to the side and exposing my neck.

"Evelyn," he gasped, and bit me—hard—in the crook of my neck, and thrust very deep a few last times, shuddering.

And then we both sat very still. Our breathing was loud in the quiet room, and I may have still been making small noises, if I am honest. In my defense, it was a very intense experience. I began to speculate how long it would be until we could do that again.

"How long will it be until we can do that again?" I asked.

He took his mouth off of my shoulder and buried his face there.

"Evelyn," he said, his voice muffled, "Maker, I just…just had you on my desk, and that's what you have to say?"

"Oh," I said, and suddenly felt like collapsing in on myself. Avoiding his eyes, I eased myself away from him, slid off the desk, and started to reach for his cloak. "I'm sorry if you didn't like…if that wasn't…nice." I slid the cloak around my shoulders and looked at him.

He stood there, his hands spread out in front of himself helplessly, with an expression like someone had just hit him in the back of the head with a board. He looked absolutely ridiculous—his hair all messed and curly, his masculine sword—no, doesn't work, sorry Varric—still out of his breeches. I must have been in a highly emotional state, because I felt like laughing and crying hysterically at the same time.

He blinked at me, once, twice, then said, "NO! No, no, no." He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me against him, pushing my head onto his chest and stroking my hair. "Evelyn. Dearest. I…no." I felt him fumble with his breeches for a second, putting himself to rights, which I felt was appropriate considering the gravity of the situation, not to mention the temperature of the room. I may have sniffled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, reached down, and pulled me into his lap. He wrapped his arms around me, and sighed.

"Evelyn, I cannot think of anything that could have been…nicer. You…that was quite literally the nicest thing that has ever happened to me. It's just…you deserve better than…a desk."

"I like this desk," I sniffled. "It's sturdy, and you sit behind it all day." I was starting to feel better.

"Not only that, but I was…rough. I wasn't thinking clearly. I could have hurt you." He gently touched the spot on my neck where he'd bitten me.

I pulled back and looked at him. "You don't see what I can do on a daily basis, but I am incredibly tough. You are not going to physically damage me in any lasting way. Also," I sighed, "my mind works all the time. All I do is think. Think, think, think." I tossed up some floating lights, and snapped my fingers to extinguish the torches in the room. I was pleased to notice he didn't flinch.

"Cullen, when you don't think clearly, when all you want to do is ravish me, it's wonderful because it allows me to not think either. However, the word 'ravish' really doesn't work for what I want you to do to me. I still maintain that 'fuck' is a highly effective term, although I'm open to alternatives. Anyway, that," I gestured in the general direction of the desk, "was what I wanted."

He smiled at me then, and kissed me on the forehead, and I really did feel better.

"I think I need a little time to…process this," he said slowly.

"Of course," I said. "I am still in a bit of an emotional state, myself. Would you mind just holding me for a while? I like it when you touch me." He nodded, and I settled back against him, put my head on his shoulder, and tried to relax.

He was quiet for a while, rubbing my back. After a few minutes, I felt his body began to answer my earlier question about how long it would take until we could do that again. He began to unravel my braid with one hand, running his fingers slowly through my hair.

"Evelyn," he began tentatively, "I don't just want to…to fuck you. Not just that." I waited for a moment, but he seemed at a loss for words.

"In that case, Cullen," I said tentatively, "maybe you'd like to take me upstairs to your bed and make love to me?"

He sighed with what seemed like relief. "Make love to you? Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Good," I said, "I've been saving that one up."

I didn't tell him about the new ones that I picked up from the sailors, which I am saving for a completely different type of occasion. I am particularly enamored with "swive." He is going to be so outraged!

I think perhaps it is best if I leave the rest of this entry for some other time. Cassandra wants to meet with me, and I am feeling flustered from writing about our encounter. A cool bath seems in order.


	31. That Same Old Thing Between Us

Author's Note:

Chapter 31 is NSFW, folks. Man, if you thought that last chapter was filthy, this one is...only slightly filthier! It's got some dirty words, so I'm going to have to bump it up to five out of five scarves fluttered in shock. Try not to swoon, y'all.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

I…do not know exactly what to write about what transpired last night and this morning. I should be doing work, but I feel that I must record this, or it will vanish, like it never happened.

Evelyn arrived back at Skyhold earlier than expected, and came to my office late last night. I asked her about the future, and she said that she wanted to be with me, and we kissed, and Maker help me, but she took off all of her clothes—I didn't ask her to but I also didn't stop her—and asked me to fuck her on my desk, so…I did.

And it was extraordinary. Her breasts are beautiful and perfect, her skin is so soft, and she made these tiny, breathy noises when I had my cock buried in her…

Even the simple act of writing about her in this way makes me feel terrible now, using crude language to express what happened, like all we did was touch parts of our bodies together and nothing else, but it wasn't like that, not at all. It was very emotional and very physical and the two are all mixed up together in a way that makes it difficult to tell one part from the other.

I felt terrible about it afterwards, of course, because what kind of an idiot has sex with a woman, the one he (possibly? probably? definitely?) wants to spend the rest of his life with, for the first time—her first time—on a desk? And Maker, I bit her, and she's probably got bruises everywhere I had my hands. I felt like an animal.

Of course, when I tried to apologize, she got upset and thought I didn't like it, which of course I did, I just wasn't supposed to. Except…she said she liked it too? She said it helped her "not think," which on one hand sounds ridiculous and, on the other hand, sounds like maybe something that would be wonderful for Evelyn, because all that woman does is think.

I saw her sit there, completely naked—she'd just come incredibly hard while I licked her (Maker, I can't even write about that), her wetness soaking into my breeches, aroused and obviously still half out of her mind—and she started analyzing how to take off my pants.

I…need to stop writing about this for now. I am sitting in my office, at my desk, and I had better start thinking about something else before someone walks in and I embarrass myself.

But now that I see this written down, all of these lustful thoughts, I feel a bit foolish. What am I thinking? I am not a chevalier, or a poet. I am just a man. I am allowed to physically desire the woman I love, to be her lover and to love her.

So many things can be all tied up in the same thing: the way I feel about her.

I have felt hesitant about keeping this journal, but now I am glad I have.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

After Evelyn assured me that she was perfectly content with everything that had transpired on the desk, she sat in my lap for a long time as her little blue fireflies danced around us. I contemplated how to reconcile the physical desire I have for her with my emotional needs (which luckily I am feeling much better about now), but I did not manage to reach a conclusion before I began thinking about touching her again.

She was wearing my mantle and nothing else, and I started to undo her hair and touch it. I noticed that it still smelled like lavender, but the rest of her smelled of sex and sweat and fur. I started thinking about what, exactly, I would have to do to make her smell entirely like me, and at that point, I suppose Evelyn must have noticed that I was aroused, because she started to squirm around on me.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want just physicality, I wanted more, but I didn't know how to ask her for that. Then I thought, when she is confused, or wants to ask me something, she just seems to…ask.

"Evelyn," I said, "I don't just want to fuck you. Not just that." I thought about how to clarify, or at least phrase something in the form of a question, but found myself at a loss.

"Cullen," she said gently, "maybe you'd like to take me upstairs to your bed and make love to me?"

"Make love to you?" Her choice of words made my guts clench. "Oh, yes, I'd like that very much."

"Good!" she said, and she smiled. "I've been saving that one up."

I hoped that meant she was harboring tender emotions for me, and not that this was just the final entry in her ridiculous list of dirty words.

I put my arm under her legs, and carried her over to the ladder, at which point I realized that my plan to carry her upstairs had several flaws. I sighed.

She remained blessedly silent as I placed her down, then kissed me on the cheek and said, "That was a very romantic thought."

"I should clean up down here before I join you, anyway," I said mournfully. "Can you…?"

"Yes, of course." She snapped her fingers, and the torches reignited. The fireflies still danced above my desk, but I like them, so I said nothing. Sadly, they were gone in the morning. She climbed up the ladder, and I studiously did not look despite her state of undress.

I straightened up the papers haphazardly and put them into random piles. Some of them had wine stains or broken glass on them, but I could formulate a lie later. Or not—I am the Commander, the leader of all of the Inquisition's forces, and my subordinates should not be questioning me. So probably just a lie for Leliana and Josephine, then.

I opened the drawer of the desk, as I did every evening, to look in the box she'd given me. I'd made it a personal ritual to ensure that I wasn't staring at her phylactery all the time, worrying and…fussing. All was well, of course—she was just one floor above me, and the bottle glowed. I'd added in all the new drawings she'd sent me, including the one of Michel de Chevin, who I found to be far too handsome for his own good, but it was still by her hand, so into the box it went.

I closed the drawer, balled up all her abandoned clothing, including her boots and the ruined thing she kept around her chest, and went up the ladder one-handed. As I expected, the room was dark, except for a few fireflies dancing and the light coming up from below. I closed the trapdoor, dropped the clothing, and turned to the bed, where she lay on her side, watching me.

My heart started to pound. She pushed herself off of the bed—and she still had not taken off my cloak—and walked over to me. The little lights followed, trailing inexorably in her wake. I knew how they felt.

"Your fireflies," I said, "are so beautiful, not like anything I've ever seen, and I've seen all shapes and sizes. Are all mage lights different?"

"My…'fireflies?' Thank you!" She beamed like I had given her a wonderful compliment. "When apprentices are young, we're taught to manifest the lights based on our own imagination—it's a very early spell, very simple. And what you get are all shapes and sizes, but you can make them appear many ways later. Mages try to make each one unique, though. It's a bit of an affectation. Here, I'll show you what mine looked like when I was an apprentice."

She waved her hand, the same aristocratic gesture I'd seen her use to summon frost on the mirrors at the chalet, and it began to snow. The glowing white flakes started at the ceiling and floated down for about a foot, where they vanished, and reappeared again at the ceiling.

"They're lovely," I said, "but I prefer the fireflies. Why did you change your light?"

She waved her hand, then flicked her fingers, and the fireflies were back. She did not reply.

"I first saw these after Haven," I said, thinking back. "We were fighting, but then you came out of the tent, alive, and everything was better. You walked through the crowd, and we sang, and you touched the survivors—Evelyn, we were so desperate, and it changed so much. And then you walked out into the snow with Solas, and threw out the fireflies, and I remember thinking…well, two things, really."

"What was that?"

I cleared my throat. It was embarrassing, of course, but when she reveals small pieces of herself to me, I feel that I must reciprocate, or something will be lost. Also, when did I start making enumerated lists of things?

"Well, my first thought was something like 'that son of a bitch,' because I wanted that to be me, standing with you under the fireflies, and the second—well, I was sad that when you walked by, you hadn't touched me. And I thought that you probably never would, that you didn't want to, because I'd been a Templar." There it was, the same old thing between us.

"You sweet man," she said, stepping forward and running her fingers down the scar on my face, "I came by and touched you right after that. You were so tired, and so strong for everyone, including me." She took my gloved hand and turned it over, undoing the buckles and pulling the gauntlet off. "Where do these go?" she asked.

"Just throw it on the floor," I said. "I don't care."

She laughed and threw it in the corner, then walked behind me and began to unfasten my greaves. "I changed to fireflies when I was in a very cold, frightening place. They are…warmer. More comforting. I promise to tell you about it someday soon, but now is not the time. I might observe, in the meantime, that you are standing under the fireflies with me at this very moment, and have done so several times previously."

I looked up.

"Greaves," she announced as she removed the second one. "I remember." They followed the gauntlet into the corner, and I began to work on the armor at my elbows and shoulder.

"Pauldron," she said, standing up and undoing a strap on my underarm. I finished the rest, and tossed them all into the corner, where they landed with a loud clang. "Breastplate," she said, and started undoing the straps holding both sides together. "I'm not going to throw this. It's too heavy." She helped me lift it off my shoulders, and carried it over to the pile of armor.

"Cullen, is this an armor stand directly next to the place I've been throwing your armor?"

"Well, yes," I said sheepishly.

"What is this?" she asked, and leaned closer to the stand. A firefly bounced closer, revealing my shield. I love that shield, and while I can't say I wished it never existed because it's saved my life countless times—it was my Templar shield. Emblazoned on the front was the Sword of Mercy. "Ah," she said. There it was again, the same old thing between us.

She walked back over to me, unlaced the front of my doublet, and slid her hands beneath. I pulled it over my head, and she splayed her hands on my abdomen, ran them up over my shoulders, and down my arms. She shivered.

"Any woman with sense would be happy to touch you," she breathed and swayed closer to me, her breasts brushing up against my chest. She pushed my cloak off her shoulders, and it fell to the floor. I reached for her, but she shoved my hand away, plucking at the top of my pants.

"Get rid of these first. They were obviously designed by someone devious, who wished to keep me out."

I sat down on the bed, yanked off both my boots, then stood and shucked off my breeches and smallclothes. I shivered, too—it is still early spring, and the room was chilly. The small hole in the roof probably doesn't help, either.

She walked by me and slid into the bed, pulling the covers back, and patting the mattress next to her. I got in next to her, not touching, and pulled the covers up. I rolled over to face her.

"Do these lights bother you?" she asked, and they dimmed slightly. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable if there were no magic in the room."

"No," I said, surprised by her question. "I like them. They're…part of who you are."

"Cullen," she sighed, "I came up here so we could make love, but I want to talk to you about that shield first."

I began to somehow feel even more naked, if such a thing is possible.

"This is important." She reached out and put her hand over my heart, which was beating very fast. "If you hadn't been a Templar, if that hadn't been part of your life, then I wouldn't be alive. Nobody else would have known to use my phylactery to find me."

"Ah," I said. "You...you might have given it to another of the Inquisition's Templars."

"You were the only one I could trust, the only one I knew had the presence of mind in the field to know what to do with the damn thing, even though everything around was falling apart. I needed you to have it. Your past as a Templar is part of who you are, too, just like my lights, and it saved me."

"Oh." It did seem plausible. And if it were true, if I'd only been able to save this woman because I'd been a Templar…

For so long, I'd wondered what sort of horror would have happened if she'd taken a different path, ended up in Kirkwall, but what if I had been the one on a different path? Would she have died at Haven?

She rolled on her back, and the fireflies bobbed down close, illuminating her face. She looked very…peaceful. "I like that you have a name for these, Cullen. 'Fireflies.'" She swirled her finger through them and they danced back up to the ceiling, and she rolled towards me. "I didn't think I was coming back from Haven. The other reason I gave you the phylactery was…if I died, I wanted you to have it to remember me by."

I blinked, then grabbed her and pulled her close to me. I draped my arm over her, and nuzzled at her neck.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," I asked, running my hand down the length of her back, "that day you kissed me on the battlements: how long had you wanted to do that?"

She laughed, a deliciously throaty laugh.

"Longer than I should admit."

And so we lay there, and made love to each other, touching and kissing. Everything about her is so wonderfully soft: her hair, her lips, her skin, the sweetness between her legs. She straddled me eventually, riding me while I reached between us and stroked her. She makes the most amazing assortment of sounds—hums, little squeaks, moans, sighs.

What we had done downstairs had felt frantic, the result of desire and having wondered and worried for so long. But I wanted to make love to her, make love with her because…I am in love with her, and I wanted to show her how I feel, if I could. I'd kept it to myself for a long time, because it was risky and because I didn't know how she'd respond. I needed to tell her soon, though.

That night was not the night, however. As I was contemplating the idea, she leaned down and kissed me, bracing her hand over my shoulder, moving against me and whimpering. I decided to tell her in the morning, because I wasn't thinking clearly just then, and I wanted her to believe me. She was so hot and tight, and the noise she made—I broke, twisting her nipple, rubbing her, and ramming my cock into her, over and over again, until she was gasping and writhing, bent over me.

Her forehead against mine, she looked into my eyes, said, "Oh, Cullen," then her eyes rolled back, she went stiff, and she was gone, crying out, clenching me tight, and with that, I was gone too. I grabbed her hips, shoved my cock up into her until she had taken all of me, and groaned out her name as I filled her.

I'd never made love to...with anyone before. I hope she knew…it was only her. It's only ever been her.

We both lay there for a long time, panting, and I felt…

.

..

…

_[The pen has been tapped here randomly several times, and some curlicues and squares and circles drawn as if in idle contemplation, but then more dots have been placed deliberately at the bottom of the page, with small circles drawn around them, as if to indicate glowing lights, or fireflies.]_


	32. You are a Weapon

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal_:

I wake in near-complete darkness. The room is cold, almost freezing, and smells like excrement, blood, and fear. In the opposite corner, I can just barely see some light coming through from the other side of a door.

I know that there are two other people here with me. One of them lies near the door, wheezing, and the other, sitting next to me, is Cole. I can barely see his face, but I feel his…presence and recognize his voice when he speaks.

"Hello," he says in his vague, lilting way. "You're not supposed to be here. It's very dangerous."

There is a wet coughing sound from the figure by the door. The coughing stops, and a slight blue-white glow appears, only for a moment, and then the coughing begins again, harder this time.

"She doesn't know how to heal herself," Cole whispers. "They never taught her, but she pulls tiny tears in the Fade anyway. Outside-in instead of inside-out; she tells Cassandra it's twisted, you see? You don't see, but others did, and do."

He reaches down and holds my hand. His fingers feel clammy, gaunt, and cold.

"You have to be quiet now," he whispers. "It's coming."

The door opens, and for a moment, I see a Templar in full plate armor, the same kind I wore years ago at Kinloch Hold. His face is not entirely visible, but he looks young. He slips inside and closes the door behind him silently, then rushes to the figure on the floor.

"Drink this," he whispers.

She coughs and complies, and after a few minutes, he helps her sit up and inch over to lean against the wall. Her breathing sounds better, now, and she waves her hand. It begins to snow, and the room is illuminated.

I do not recognize the young Templar, but the other person is Evelyn, although I barely recognize her. Her eyes are too large, her nose too prominent for her face, and her body, beneath a blood-encrusted robe, is the wrong size and shape.

"She's young," I whisper, and Cole squeezes my hand, hard. The Templar looks towards us for a second, then back to Evelyn.

Her hair has been shorn off, she has blood on her mouth, and one of her eyes has nearly swelled shut. She starts to cry huge, racking sobs.

"You came for me," she wheezes. "I didn't think you'd come, Robin, but you did."

"Of course I came," he whispers to her, "I couldn't leave you. I love you, and we're leaving together." He looks up at the snowflakes, falling for just a foot below the ceiling.

Her gaze cuts across him, then, in that familiar birdlike way. Those eyes are still Evelyn's, and she sees something. She stops crying, wipes her face.

"You always liked the snowflakes, didn't you?" she waves her hand, and they vanish. The room is dark again.

"You did leave me, Robin." She wipes her face. "My Robin never came, told them it was just me, ran away to…was it Starkhaven? But you came, didn't you? I think you should leave." Several tiny fireflies form in her hand, their light dim.

The Templar laughed. "You're doing it wrong. It's not enough to power to save you, but it's enough for me to come through. You are in so much pain. Let me help you. Let me love you. Let me help you feel love again."

The door opens again, and another, older Templar steps in, the young one slipping out behind him. His armor is newer, identical to the full plate I wore at Kirkwall. It is the same man, fifteen years or so older. He has grown very handsome, with dark hair and eyes.

He kneels next to her, and puts down a lit lantern, illuminating the room. It is some kind of detention area or jail with stone floors and walls. My breath is visible in the cold air. There is a large smear of dried blood on the floor.

"I could make you love me, let you feel something again. Not just work, or fighting with Templars who despise you, trying to save mages who think you are a traitor. That's why I brought you this," he says, and takes a small glowing bottle out and puts it on the floor. "I love you; I've always loved you. I would never let my vows come between us. I could leave the Templars and…oh, that's interesting. You don't want that anymore, either." The Templar looks at her oddly. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Almost a year, I think," Evelyn says, drily.

"You've been busy!" it exclaims.

The Templar looks over at us, stands up, dusts itself off, and ambles over.

"Who are they?" he asks.

I glance at Cole, and I am horrified. He is incredibly thin, his skin hanging off him loosely, and he is so pale. He is obviously on the verge of death. I do not let go of his hand.

"Friends of mine," she answers casually. "Gentlemen, this is Robin. It is a desire demon."

It glances back at her. "'Choice spirit?' You met Imshael and he was calling himself a 'choice spirit?' That's rich! I'm going to start using that, just don't tell him I—oh. Oh. Little girl, what did you do?"

"She was always able to resist you, every time you tempted," Cole whispers, "but now she is far, far out of your reach."

"What are you doing here, little thing?" it asks Cole. "You don't belong here at all."

"When I have this dream, he comes and holds my hand," she smiles at Cole fondly, then heaves herself up with a grunt, a staff in her hand. She is Evelyn again, grown into her body and her facial features, but still clothed in the bloody and torn robe. She flicks her normal fireflies into the air, and they bob and weave.

"We hold each other's hands," says Cole.

"One day, little puppet," snarls the demon, "she is going to tire of you, and bind you, and twist all of that precious compassion right out of you, and you won't be you at all, anymore."

I squeeze Cole's hand tightly. He starts to shake, so I reach over with my other hand and pull his emaciated body into my lap, against my chest. He is so light, all brittle bones and skin.

"And who are you, his protector?" it looks at me. "Oh, even better! You found one that did leave, Evelyn. No wonder you don't want poor Robin anymore."

"My, my," it eyes me some more, "he is handsome. And look at all those scars! Old, but someone certainly gnawed on him for a while, didn't they? He's got all sorts of treasures in here. Did he tell you about…her?"

Solona stands there instead of the Templar, robe half undone, her red hair falling in waves around her beautiful face. She looks down at herself.

"Compared to her, he thinks you are…'a small brown bird.' How unfortunate! She does appear to be much more beautiful than you."

I continue to hold Cole, not looking at the demon, focusing on Evelyn. She is wearing her full battle armor now, approaching slowly. She seems very relaxed, but the hair on my arms begins to stand on end. I think we are in very great danger.

"That does appear to be true," Evelyn observes.

"Seems that our former Templar has a taste for mages." It walks over to me, bends over, and blows in my ear.

I turn my head, grit my teeth, and snarl, "Begone, demon! Leave me! You cannot tempt me." I want to stand and draw my sword, but Cole is shaking, and somehow I know I must hold on to him.

It pulls back, shoots Evelyn a wry glance, and says, "Templars. So much yelling."

"It seems to work for them," she says, still so casual. "Mages get ourselves in much more trouble because we talk to you like you're reasonable, don't we?"

"You know, Evelyn," the demon purrs, "one day another mage is going to come along, more beautiful than you, younger than you, and that will be it."

And then the demon is a tall blond man clad in armor and fur, a scar running down the side of his face. The scarred bit tugs at his mouth when he smiles at her. Familiar and yet unfamiliar, for I have never seen myself...outside of myself in this way before.

"This one will leave you broken, the way Templars always leave you. But I can show you a way to make it so that he'll never want to leave, he'll never—"

Evelyn taps the blade of her staff on the floor sharply. Her barrier is up, flickering with lightning.

"Robin, stop that. You're upsetting them. I think it's time for you to go now. I am strong enough that I will destroy you, if necessary."

"You think you're special, 'Herald of Andraste,' 'Inquisitor,' a chosen woman," the demon hisses in my voice, and turns to saunter out the door. "But you are not a woman, you are a mage. You are a weapon. You are fire. You are the sharp edge of a blade. And one day, he's not going to want you anymore, they're not going to need you anymore—"

As she turns to watch it pass her, she slides a hand to the top of her staff, near the focus crystal, and grips the middle of the staff hard enough that I can see her knuckles go white. And as soon as it faces away, she flips her staff's blade up and spears the demon in the back.

An enormous electrical "POP" fills the room, leaving a huge blinding bloom of white color in my field of vision and a ringing in my ears. There is a shriek and an awful, rotting stench, but no further noise, so I hold Cole and wait.

Evelyn walks over and slides down the wall, sitting next to me and Cole. I hear her let out a very long breath, and I still have enough lyrium in my body to tell that she has depleted nearly all of her energy in that explosion. She rubs his back for a few minutes, and my vision returns. On top of the dried pool of blood is a wide smear of charcoal dust.

"Cole, we'll fix it as soon as we get that amulet from Rivain, all right? Why is Cullen here? Did you bring him?"

"Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him."

"Ah," she says.

"That's not much of an explanation," I grumble.

"I think he was scared when he entered my dream and the demon was here, and so he pulled you along. I don't know enough about the Fade to speculate more. Solas might have a guess; I've shared a dream with him before."

"You…?"

"Not now." She strokes his hair and glances at me. "Cole likes you, Cullen, especially if he trusts you to see him like this. He's always sick in my dream, but I don't know why."

"He likes birds," says Cole defensively. "She casts me a sharp look across the chessboard, like the small brown birds I used to feed at Kinloch Hold. I wonder what it would be like to move her hair to the side and kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder."

"Cole, stop," she said, quietly. "I am going to wake up now, and I will talk to you about this in the morning. After breakfast, so just…don't come looking for me."

She turns her hand over, and there is a flash of green, and…

I am awake.

I opened my eyes, and I was in my bed, with Evelyn, and she was looking at me.

"Well," she said, "that was eventful."

I let go of the cold and horror of the dream, and took stock of myself. We were both naked. She was warm and lying very close to me. We had spent the evening…making love, and then I'd pulled her close to me and we'd gone to sleep.

"I…have bad dreams almost every night," I began slowly. "But that…wasn't my nightmare, was it? It was yours."

"Indeed," she sighed. "A long time ago, the demon sensed me trying to heal myself in a terribly stupid way, and came through. I was able to resist it, but I've never been able to destroy it. It is…was…very powerful."

"And it just...kept coming back?"

"Once a year, approximately. All mages have to deal with such things occasionally in our dreams; you know this."

"Yes, but," I thought for a second, "are they always so…chatty?"

She chuckled. "The rage demon isn't. Pride demons, of course they are. But Robin always had a real weakness for talking. It has been coming to me for a long time, and this time I was lucky you distracted it."

I sat up and looked at her. "How many demons…?"

She sat up beside me, and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm a very powerful mage." It was not a real answer, but I let it go for now.

"What are the fireflies, then?"

"Now, they're just light. Not dangerous at all." She flicked a few up above our heads. "Who was the semi-clothed woman, since we're asking questions?"

"Oh," I said. "That was…someone from my past. A long time ago, from the Circle Tower."

She didn't ask any further, just pulled my head down to rest on her breast, and began to stroke my hair.

"The demons Uldred unleashed tortured me and…tempted me with her form. So now when I dream of her, it's…upsetting. Keeping the journal has helped."

"Ah," Evelyn said, continuing to run her fingers through my hair. "I didn't know you were using that. It is a good step. Very effective on its own, but let me know if you need more help."

"Mm," I replied. I sat for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of her hands in my hair and realizing that, despite the fact that she did not appear to be jealous, I certainly felt that way. "So what happened to your Templar, the real Robin?"

"He wasn't my Templar, and he eventually transferred back to the Ostwick Circle after a decade away, but I was no longer in love with him. Honestly, I had better things to be doing. We rarely spoke. After the Circles fell, Robin brought me my phylactery, which he'd taken from Starkhaven. Then he confessed his undying love for me—and his vow of celibacy—and he left. I haven't seen him since."

I grunted. "He sounds like an idiot."

"Are you jealous? At least my dream hallucination was fully clothed."

"Yes, but this Robin was…recent. I—"

She shifted herself a bit and wrapped a leg around me, as if to remind me of what was even more recent.

"I hadn't had feelings for the man since I was sixteen. But I will tell you this: that is why, when I met you, I asked you about your personal vows. I was…relieved to find you were under no such constraints."

"That was a long time ago, wasn't it? And I had no idea why you were asking me that, although it certainly made me think impure thoughts about you." I rolled so I was on top of her, my body pinning hers to the bed. "It was true, though—I have taken no such vows."

"We are spending a lot of time talking about people who are not here currently." She danced her fingers up my spine. "Desire demons sow discord when they do not get what they want. One effective way of staving off jealousy would, perhaps, be for you to find a way to show you care for me and not this partially nude redhead. You are a decisive man; I'm sure you can devise a solution."

"Yes," I said, "I can definitely do that."

So I made love to her, hoping she could tell how much I do care for her, and her alone. Afterwards, she fell asleep. I lay awake for a long time, holding her and listening to her breathe.


	33. Someone Broke In and Trashed Your Desk

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal_:

I waited for Cullen to awake, but he slept very soundly. I put on my clothes from the night before, with the exception of my breast band, which is the second article of clothing that he has managed to slice off of me. Into the rag bin it goes, I suppose.

The sun would not rise for another half hour yet, and I stole down to the lower level to steal pen and ink. My journey found my legs significantly stiffer than previously expected, and I was sore in several novel areas. I have some small bruises on my hip that look like a handprint, for instance, and a few marks on my upper arm. Nothing that won't heal up quickly, of course, and I found myself feeling uncharacteristically cheerful for such an early hour of the morning.

The poor desk was a disaster, and I wondered if he'd make up a lie to account for the mess or try to bluster his way through. I found everything I was looking for, plus a piece of charcoal, and carried it all back upstairs. I sat and sketched for a few minutes, and when I was done, I wrote a quick letter and sat on the bed to put on my boots.

Behind me, Cullen started to twitch and moan, kicking off the blankets. He muttered something incomprehensible, so I put my hand on his chest, and he awoke with a gasp.

I left my hand on his chest, hoping it was comforting, while he came to his senses and caught his breath.

"Another bad dream?" I asked. I could see his pulse beating at his throat.

He nodded. "Without lyrium, they're worse."

"I'm sorry, dearest." I stroked the side of his face. "Despite the dreams last night, is it still a good morning?"

He laughed. "It's perfect."

I bent down and touched my forehead to his, closing my eyes. It was an important moment. Often when people claim love-related ailments—hearts bursting, being full, or having been broken, I am skeptical and would attribute many of them to excessive acid in the digestive canal, but in this case, my entire body truly did feel full of love, including areas not at all associated with digestion or reproduction.

"You are…." he whispered, "I have never felt anything like this." It was as good an opening as I was going to get.

"I love you." I opened my eyes and smiled at him. "You know that, correct?" It felt good to say it out loud, instead of thinking about it all the time and trying not to write about it in every sentence of all of my letters to him.

"I love you, too," he said, positively beaming at me, straightening his shoulders. He was very proud of himself, apparently.

"Whew," I said, letting out a breath I'd been holding. I slouched against him.

He chuckled. "Relieved?"

"As if you are not. Are you…puffed up?" I poked his side experimentally with my finger, but all I was able to detect was solid muscle and no excess air.

"And now a man cannot be happy and have good posture at the same time?" he rumbled.

"I am leaving now, because you are acting like a soldier who has just gotten a promotion. I have to go check on Cole. Also, someone broke in and trashed your desk. It was probably Sera." I got up to leave, but he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me back for a long kiss. When it ended, I grinned at him and started down the ladder.

I turned to look at him one last time, as he flopped back on the bed with an enormous smile. I flicked a handful of dancing lights over him, and he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

Cole's situation is more complex than I anticipated. Josephine was able to obtain the Rivaini talisman, but it does not seem to be working. Cole feels…pulled in a direction, to a place, and once we figure out where to go, we will set out. He is very distressed.

Hopefully Dagna will also have some information soon, and this "occult advisor" wants to speak to me…so much to do, but I will take victories where I can get them. This evening was important.

I realize now, as I write this, that I left that letter in his room, and he will read it. I don't know why I feel a bit embarrassed about that now, but perhaps in the long run, it will be good for him to have it if something happens and I don't come back.

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Dearest:

Thank you for spending the night with me.

After our victory at Halamshiral, I wish that we could rest together, you and I. We could stay in bed for a whole day, then travel through the Free Marches, and I could show you a place or two that has been special to me in my journey.

But, of course, that is not to be. The war is not yet won, and we must move forward toward our goal.

I will continue to fight: the Inquisition works for a better world. For a long time, I've been doing it because I want to build a future where you could be happy. Perhaps, if I am lucky—and you made sure I am, didn't you?—we could be happy together.

No matter what happens, though, I love you, and I remain

Yours always,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the paper is a self-portrait, drawn in charcoal, of the Inquisitor sitting in a camp chair, hunched over a small desk. She appears to be writing a letter._]


	34. Figurative and Literal Demons

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

Leliana has grown tired of me "borrowing" her birds, and has gifted me my favorite, the crow with the white feather on its chest. I know that you will be gone just a few days on your trip to Redcliffe, but I wanted to write to you anyway, and try out my new messenger.

Also, I regret that I was not more forthcoming to you about the woman in your dream, especially because I then immediately acted like a jealous fool about the Templar.

The woman was a much younger version of Solona Amell, who you probably recognize as the Hero of Ferelden. She was of my charges at the Circle—I attended her Harrowing. She was a lovely woman.

I saw her once after she became a Warden. She freed the Tower during the Blight. I would be dead or mad if not for her. I was in a sorry state when she found me, and the things I said were…unkind, untoward. I regret them now, and I wish she knew that.

And yes, because I am sure you are rolling your eyes at me from all the way in Ferelden, by "a lovely woman," I mean that there was some youthful infatuation on my part. It is a feeling I had forsaken until recently. This time around, I am finding this feeling to be much more…enjoyable.

I hope that your trip with Cole is a success. His state in your dream was extremely disturbing. I got the impression that you have had this dream many times, with and without the demon-how did you remain so calm, retain so much control over yourself? Even Cole seemed more concerned than you did, but he is a strange…boy and I cannot guess at his opinions or motivations.

When we first came to Skyhold, he used to leave incomprehensible notes on my desk. I remember one of them said, "They didn't hang you there. You can still walk away." What does that even mean?

Speaking of which, you said you'd "shared a dream" with Solas and Cole previously. Is this something I need to know about, an ability some mages have which I was unaware of? A man's dreams should be private, unless he chooses to reveal them to another, an action which, in my experience, generally results in the most boring of stories at the tavern.

And now, I must go, because I caught some of my troops gossiping in the stables about locked doors and how I am smiling more recently, so I think it is time for a surprise inspection and some extra drills. No word on Samson yet.

Be safe.

Cullen

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Dearest:

We have stopped at an inn outside of Redcliffe, and will go into the town tomorrow to investigate whatever connection it might have with Cole. I fear this might have something to do with his form in my dreams, but I do not know how, and he won't tell me.

Your messenger made good time, and is sitting on my desk, trying to pick the stones out of one of my rings.

To me, the young woman in your dream looked very much like the fantasy of a slightly less mature man, and I don't believe you're any more in love with her now than I am with Robin. If you wanted to "slake your lust" (I got that one from Varric) with a more beautiful or a younger woman than myself, you would have had willing participants among many of the women at Haven or Skyhold.

Instead, you appear to have occupied yourself by sending letters to and engaging in a sometimes painfully slow courtship with me. Your words and actions indicate that I have nothing to be jealous of, and as building a future together with you is also what I desire, I simply intended to take you at your word.

However, if you would like to for me to be jealous, as I have observed is the case in some amorous relationships, I might note that Solona Amell and I have one thing in common: we are both powerful female mages. To that end, since you have shown a preference for this type of woman, I command you to stay away from Grand Enchanter Fiona, or I shall be incredibly envious. Positively green.

I have not "shared" any particularly…colorful dreams with Solas, if that was your concern. He has a connection to the Fade unlike other mages I have encountered, although I have heard stories of others who might possess parallel, if not similar, talents.

I would be happy to assist you with strategies to make your nightmares more bearable. I realize, especially after seeing the young lady in your dream, that they may be of a more personal nature, so let me know what you are comfortable with and I will try to help. I must agree with you that little is more tedious in a social setting than being regaled with the details of someone's extremely boring, meaningless dream, but we would not be speaking in the context of a tavern.

Your messenger appears to be getting restive, so I will conclude this letter and send him on his way. Will notify you immediately tomorrow if I have any news about Cole. I hope we can conclude this quickly and I can be home soon with you.

Yours truly,

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the page, a crow is drawn, eyeing a shiny coin on a tabletop.]_

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

I suppose we have pieced together Cole's secret. It is not what I would have predicted, certainly. I question whether or not I dealt with the situation in the correct way, or if I allowed my own experience to cloud my judgment.

When we reached Redcliffe, Cole saw a man he apparently knew from his past. The man, a former Templar, fled, and Cole finally told us the truth about where he was from.

"A broken body, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dank dark, a captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death."

"I came through to help…and I couldn't. So I became him. Cole."

I had assumed that Cole appeared my dreams from time to time because simply because I was remembering an extremely painful episode of my life, and he wanted to comfort me, but it appears that the similarities between our situations also called to him.

What to do?

Solas claimed that Cole needed to remain true to his nature as a spirit of compassion, and forgive the Templar for what was done to Cole, the mage.

Varric wanted Cole to focus on his humanity, and begin to move past the situation and try to grow as a person—whatever that meant.

Cole insisted that what he really needed was to kill the Templar who murdered him.

I mostly just wanted to vomit. You asked how I maintained my calm in my dream, and the reason is trite: I got used to it. I became accustomed to experiencing the physical pain in times when the demon did not appear, and became inured to the temptations of the demon in times when it did come.

And so, as it always is, the decision was passed to me. What should Cole do? I asked myself: what did I do, and was what I did even the best decision?

I did not forgive the Templars who ordered my punishment. Word of my abuse reached my parents, who, while they were not concerned with my personal fate, would not countenance a member of the Trevelyan noble family being treated in such a gross and undignified fashion. The Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain were transferred elsewhere.

Did I "grow," did I change, did I "move on?" I suppose so. I did not allow my experience to interfere with my research or, later, the opportunity to travel outside of the Circle. Perhaps my experience with the demon, coming before even my Harrowing, provided me with valuable insight as to the nature of demons and their relationship with the inner thoughts and emotions of mages.

In the end, I decided that if Cole truly was just a spirit, and a spirit only, he would not have pushed his way beyond the Fade, into the world of people.

So Varric talked to him about moving beyond his anger for the Templar, and told Cole to allow the man to remember, since that is what we, as people, do with our pasts. I cannot help but think, though, that perhaps forgetfulness and forgiveness would be more of a blessing than dragging all of these memories with us wherever we go. I do not know.

Cole has changed. He feels more real, more grounded. It's hard to explain; you will know what I mean when you next speak to him. I do not know if this is a good thing, but it seems now to be his reality.

The decision is made, and it is best to not ruminate on it too much. The next time we are together, perhaps it can be just you and me, and not the figurative and literal demons of the past. I'd like that very much.

Yours truly,

Evelyn

* * *

_A letter, sent the same day as the one above, from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Evelyn:

While I have not received a report after your first, you should know that as soon as you have the situation resolved with Cole, it is important for you to return to Skyhold with all haste.

I think we're close to finding Samson's base. The efforts of my men and Dagna have been bearing fruit, but this morning a group of four Templars showed up at Skyhold asking to speak with you.

Their leader claims to know you from the Ostwick Circle, and has information that he will divulge only to you. He says he has information about Red Templars recruiting ex-Templars desperate for lyrium, and that they've given indications as to where Samson is based. Two of your fellow mages from Ostwick have confirmed the identities of these Templars, and although it may be a trap, it may also be worth looking into.

Please keep me advised as to your whereabouts and when you might arrive back at Skyhold, so we can strike at Samson as soon as possible.

Cullen


	35. The Appropriate Course of Action

_A letter from Madame Vivienne to Commander Cullen. The penmanship is exquisite:_

My Dear Commander:

I hope that this missive finds you well. I am informed that we will return to Skyhold tomorrow, and cease gallivanting about after the whims of the Inquisitor's pet demon.

Allow me to congratulate you on your continued efforts to confront Samson and his army of perverted Templars. I was grieved when the Inquisitor chose to approach the rebel mages instead of following your advice. I cannot help but think how different the situation might be had we allied ourselves with the Templars, but that time has passed and we must deal with the consequences.

When the unpleasantness with the Red Templars has resolved itself, I hope that you might cast your mind to the future, and consider either the fate of a reformed Templar Order or, if that is not feasible due to the Inquisitor's short-sightedness, the Seekers of Truth. Thedas needs a strong, unified force to be able to protect and regulate the practitioners of magic, as I know you would agree.

The Inquisition also requires a dedicated army who is seen as acting for the good of all Thedas, and not catering to the whims of the formerly rebellious mages who now comprise such a regrettably large part of our forces.

In the past, you and I have had several delightful conversations that indicated you might agree with me on many of these points. I truly respect the work you do for the Inquisition and your level of dedication.

It is with the greatest respect, then, that I must bring a concern to your attention. It is being said amongst some that you have embarked upon a sort of romantic liaison with our dear Inquisitor. While I might understand your fascination with her, as she is a strangely charismatic leader, I feel that as your friend, I must caution you against this course of action.

While I understand the romance of the situation, we both know that dalliances between mages and Templars do not last. While you may not align yourself with the Templars currently, I am sure your inner instincts cannot help but agree with me on this matter.

Additionally, you are an experienced leader of men. Do you truly think that it is appropriate for the Inquisitor and the Commander of the Inquisition to be engaged in illicit trysts? Your reputation, at least, should be beyond reproach for you to continue to command the loyalty of your troops. You must already realize the truth: your authority will be undermined if you persist in such an inappropriate, ill-considered alliance.

I address these concerns to you as a friend and a mage who believes in the great potential of the Inquisition to make the changes necessary to stabilize our future. Please, take them under consideration. I trust you will choose the appropriate course of action.

If you wish to consult with me further, please understand that I will treat this matter with the utmost delicacy and discretion.

Yours Truly,

Enchanter Vivienne, Madame de Fer

Court Mage of the Imperial Court of Orlais

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

When I received word that the Inquisitor had arrived back at Skyhold, I sent a runner requesting her presence in my office at her earliest convenience. She sent a message in the affirmative, saying she would arrive in about fifteen minutes' time, as she had not eaten on the road that day. I summoned the four Templars from Ostwick, three men and one woman, and they arrived before the Inquisitor.

"I trust your accommodations are satisfactory, Knight-Captain?" I asked their leader—or at least, the one of them who'd held the highest rank before everything fell apart. He was a tall man, somewhere in his late fifties, with a grey moustache and impeccable posture. Despite his military demeanor, however, neither he nor any of his companions were dressed like Templars.

They were wearing mud-smeared leather armor, a far cry from the full plate we were all provided by the Chantry. The only obviously Templar-issued item carried by any of them was Knight-Captain Liam's large shield, emblazoned as always with the Sword of Mercy. All in all, they looked like a small mercenary company rather than Templars.

"Certainly nicer than the Circle, Commander," he replied shortly, "but we won't be settling in until we see Enchanter Trevelyan."

They had arrayed themselves in a row in front of my desk, as if for an inspection. They seemed uninterested in polite conversation, so I made myself busy until the door opened behind them, and the Inquisitor came in.

The Templars all turned around together, and I felt the tingle of powerful anti-magic field. It probably originated with Knight-Captain Liam, and was an incredibly hostile thing to do in the presence of a friendly mage, much less the leader of the Inquisition. I put my hand on my sword and began to walk slowly around my desk.

"It's all right, Commander," she said, holding up a hand. "Knight-Captain, I see you are as charming as ever. Knights-Corporal Ella and Carter, it is very good to see you again, and Initiate…I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Not important," snapped the Knight-Captain.

"That is an unfortunate name, young man." Evelyn observed. Then she crossed her arms, and waited.

After a moment, Liam stepped forward, and looked the Inquisitor up and down.

"That knife you got there, Enchanter," he grumbled, pointing at her belt with his chin, "that the same one I gave you?"

"Yes," she said. "And it's Inquisitor now, Knight-Captain. Have you been in the woods for a year?"

"You been taking care of it like I showed you?"

"Of course." Looking mildly insulted, she pulled the dagger out of her belt, flipped it over, and handed it to him hilt-first. He looked at it closely, grunted and handed it back to her.

"Good enough," he nodded. "Nice and sharp. Commander, I'd be happy to talk to you about the Red Templars. And we have…something else we'd like to ask for, in return." I didn't miss the fact that he addressed himself to me, and not the Inquisitor, whom he'd supposedly known for…years?

The Inquisitor nodded too, and turned to leave, pausing in the doorway with her back to us.

"Nice to see you too, hunters. The Inquisition welcomes anyone who is willing to serve."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," I said, and she closed the door behind her and was gone. The Knight-Captain lowered his anti-magic field, and bowed his head. The other two older Templars looked vaguely uncomfortable and exhausted, while the Initiate just looked unfocused and swayed on his feet.

I had no idea what just transpired, but it was certainly obvious that Evelyn knew these people, and they knew her.

Liam sighed and turned to me, suddenly appearing bone-tired. He leaned against my desk and shook his head.

"You got a tavern here, Commander? I haven't had an ale in…months."

I nodded and led him to the Herald's Rest. It was midday, so we were able to get a table in a quiet spot upstairs. I wanted very badly to get the information about Samson out of him, but I sensed that was going to require several mugs of ale to accomplish.

They settled down at the table. The mud on their clothes and the reverence with which they drank their first ale made me think that Evelyn's guess about the woods had been correct. Their speed at which they drank their third, fourth, and fifth ales indicated a similar conclusion. So I sat, and bought ale, and waited for them to talk.

Knight-Captain Liam eventually let out an enormous sigh.

"What a magnificent woman. You ever been out in the field with her, Commander?"

"Twice, I suppose, but my duties mainly keep me here at Skyhold."

"That's a shame. That woman can set a field tourniquet faster than anyone I've seen in my life. She can't heal you worth a nug's nut, but she'll make sure you don't bleed to death. Takes care of her people. She would have made an amazing Templar."

Knight-Corporal Ella nodded reverently. "She's mean, too. This one time, an abomination grabbed her, and was trying to bite her face, right? So she had one hand on the thing's…shoulder, I guess? That lumpy bit they always grow. And with her other hand, she reaches down and grabs the thing's balls and damn near burns 'em off with that fire thing she does. Who knew abominations still had balls? I asked her about it afterwards and she said it was a lucky guess. Good instincts, I say."

"You know," I said, "the Inquisitor does not stand on formality with her troops. If you wanted to invite her out for an ale—"

"Pff! 'The Inquisitor does not stand on formality with her troops!' You hear that, Liam? She has troops." Carter laughed incredulously.

"Commander, I don't know what Circle you came from, but at Ostwick, we did not fraternize or socialize with our charges," said Liam, shaking a friendly finger in my direction. The man seemed slightly addled and drunk, but what he was scolding me for was not…inaccurate.

"I was Knight-Captain at Kirkwall," I said coldly, "and none of the mages here at Skyhold are anyone's charge. This is not a Circle. The Templars we have welcomed into the Inquisition help to protect and train our troops, and some serve in mixed units with mages. And the Inquisitor—"

"I get it, I get it, son," Liam slurred, looking at me with suddenly bleary eyes. The transformation from capable commander to slightly disoriented old man was as quick as it was surprising. "Kirkwall, eh? That's where it all happened. And now the Inquisition. The world truly is changing, isn't it? And Evelyn's in charge of it all."

"The Inquisitor is an excellent leader," I said cautiously. "The Inquisition would be nothing without her."

"That woman…was like a daughter to me. I didn't know. I couldn't love her, but by the Maker, I taught her how to survive. That has to be worth something." He put his head down on the table. I got the impression that a less disciplined man might have wept, but he just sounded…hollow. "But nobody survived the Conclave."

I cast an alarmed look at his compatriots, who did not look particularly concerned, and continued to nurse their ales.

"I think you should tell me what is going on," I stated firmly. "I need to stop Samson and the Red Templars, and if you have information for me…"

Ella sighed. "He'll be like this all evening. It's worse when he drinks. He forgets, then he remembers. It's the…well, you know."

"Ah," I said, understanding dawning. After decades of service, he had begun to lose pieces of his memory to lyrium.

"He just wanted to make sure this 'Inquisitor' really was Enchanter Trevelyan." she explained. "We been laying low since the Circle fell and we had to leave the mages. Did she tell you about that?"

"Yes," I said. "She told me some of the Templars and mages traveled together for a while, before you had to part ways."

Liam snorted from his spot on the table. "Is that what she told you? Generous."

"After that, we were with the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt for a while," Ella continued, "but Liam got twitchy and we left. Been living rough ever since, doing merc jobs, stealing or buying lyrium where we can get it."

"But never the red stuff," Carter added. "We don't touch it." Ella nodded, and he continued. "We got word the Inquisition was taking Templars, keeping them…supplied, but you had to make nice with the rebel mages and that didn't sit so well with Liam …well, you were at Kirkwall. You understand. Then we started hearing that the Herald of Andraste, and then the Inquisitor, was a mage from Ostwick. We knew Ev—Enchanter Trevelyan went to the Conclave, but what were the chances she'd made it out?"

"Better than we thought, it seems. You trained her up good, Knight-Captain," Ella patted Liam on the back. "On our way from the Marches, we met some Reds up north in Orlais taking Wally here somewhere. He's an Initiate from Val Royeaux, no parents, nowhere to go after the Spire, been making it on his own for a while. Reds find him, tell him to serve a larger purpose again, he joins up with 'em, hears some things about their base."

"Anyway," she smiled brightly at the Initiate, "Wally here is who you need to talk to about those bastards. Wally, go with Commander Cullen and tell him everything you know, all right?"

The Initiate, who had remained silent and sober up until this point, jumped and blurted out, "Initiate Waldemar, sir!"

"All right, Initiate, meet me at the entrance to the tavern. I'll be down in just a moment," I said. He bustled off, and I turned back to the Templars. Liam had picked his head up off the table, and was looking at me cannily.

"Did they…?" They had to know what I was asking.

"Yes," said Liam. "About three weeks ago."

"The red stuff, but just once before we saved him, thank the Maker," sighed Ella. "We been giving him as little as we can of the safe stuff, from reliable sources—you know you don't need it real bad when you first start. But we're getting desperate. We heard…" Ella took a deep breath.

"We hear things through the merchants who sell to us," Carter said. "We heard the Inquisitor is going after the Red Templars, hunting them down."

"We also heard," said Liam solemnly, "some are saying…that the Commander of the Inquisition, the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, has left the Templar Order and thrown off the chains of the Chantry—entirely."

"Ah," I said, "you are here for Initiate Waldemar."

"Please, brother," Ella choked out, "He's been so sick. We've never seen…if you or Evelyn can help him, please…"

I stood. "My first goal must be stopping Samson and the Red Templars, but if I can help him, I will."

"Thank you," Liam said.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to tell the Inquisitor you are here at the tavern?"

Carter looked alarmed, but Ella just sighed and shook her head, "She's not our friend, Commander," she said. "When she first started working with us, told us that she could talk all those mages into coming home…we weren't very welcoming to her. She was just so damn weird, and we had enough crazy mages to deal with. But then, it started working. Turns out shoving a sword in people's faces sometimes makes 'em do crazy stuff, and if you just talk to 'em, they simmer down. So we taught her how to fight, Liam taught her some…stuff, but it weren't too gentle and…the whole thing made sense at the time, you know? But now…"

"I treated her like a weapon," Liam said, "and it was no better than the Chantry treated us."

"When we left," Carter said, "we didn't even think to ask her to come with us. We worked with her for years, and we never thought she belonged. Only that holier-than-thou bastard Robin actually even bothered to say goodbye—he had the decency to feel guilty for what he did, at least. She'd saved my life so many times…when we heard what happened at the Conclave, when we knew she'd…died, it was when I realized that she was just as much my sister as Ella here. We did her wrong, Commander, and now we're here to ask for more. It isn't right."

I looked at the three Templars: drunk, exhausted, dirty, and ashamed. A poor combination.

"Go back to your rooms and rest," I said. "You're tired, half-starved, and probably going through withdrawal because you've been taking care of the boy. Give it some time, give yourselves a chance to heal, and we'll see where we stand. I'll send a runner by for you in a few minutes to show you the way back."

Ella and Carter nodded, and I paused for a moment. "This…Robin. Do you know where he is now?

Ella shrugged. "He stayed behind at Therinfal. He's either dead, or good as."

I made my way downstairs. Initiate Waldemar was waiting for me at the entrance to the tavern, as requested. On closer inspection, he was pale and his eyes were sunken.

"Come with me, Initiate Waldemar," I ordered. "I understand that you may have some information that is vital to the Inquisition."

Together, we went in search of Leliana, and the young man told us all that he knew about the Red Templars. I felt my excitement beginning to grow—we are close to Samson, I know it. Leliana is going to check his information with some of her scouts, I will get the most up-to-date information from Dagna and Varric. These Templars are the break we needed, and if we're lucky, it will all come together in the next day or so.

I looked for Evelyn, anxious to give her the good news. It was evening, so it was too late for her to be in the gardens or the Chantry, and she was not in the War Room or the main hall. I admit to being relieved that Madame Vivienne was not around, either. I had not responded to her letter, but some of her points might have hit too close to home.

I contemplated knocking on the door to the Inquisitor's quarters but decided that she might be sleeping and also it would probably be inappropriate. We had discussed wanting to have a future together, but we had not discussed…future sleeping arrangements. I had also been lectured by a senior Templar and was feeling a bit like I was breaking every rule I'd ever learned.

Apparently I stood there nervously contemplating the ramifications of knocking for long enough that Varric, who was writing at a table nearby, sighed and put down his pen.

"Curly, you're thinking so loud it's making it impossible to work," he said. "I can hear you being embarrassed now, too, so let me save you some time: her Inquisitorialness is not in her room at the moment. I don't know where she is, but she's not here, so maybe you could also follow her example?"

I frowned at him and strode away in a dignified fashion, because I had important work to do. Somewhere.

I returned to my office and began making some notes to organize my thoughts on the matter of Samson. I worked for about an hour, when I noticed a small amount of light coming through the trapdoor from the floor above. My curiosity piqued, I climbed the ladder and found a few small mage lights bobbing in the room, illuminating a person-shaped lump in my bed.

Maker, I prayed, please let this be Evelyn and not a drunk soldier. It's been a drunk soldier twice, and it had been Evelyn…never. The fireflies were a good sign, though.

I sat down on the bed and pulled the blanket back a few inches. I discovered that it is infinitely more satisfying to find your lover sleeping in your bed than an intoxicated recruit. For one thing, there is a lot less yelling.

For a moment, I was unsure what to do. We had not spoken about this. I might have a nightmare or be called to the barracks. One of my men might enter. Perhaps it was not appropriate that she was here. I needed to work on the situation with Samson, not be distracted.

It was very different than anything I'd experienced with a previous lover. They usually…left, but here she was. A mage, in my bed. Anyone could see. Why was I suddenly questioning my decisions? Was it the odd conversation with an older, more experienced Templar? The letter from Vivienne? My own conscience?

But she was not just a mage, of course. I ran my hand over the curve of her hip. She was very warm and soft, still wearing the clothing I'd seen her in earlier that day. I wondered if her trip with Cole and the subsequent awkward encounter with the Templars had made her upset, if she'd perhaps come looking for me. There was a book next to her on the bed, which I placed on the floor. She sighed in her sleep, and began to snore. It is rare that I see her so vulnerable, and I liked the idea that she'd sought me out. Knight-Captain Liam and his fraternization could go to the Void, right?

If I love her, why am I still trying to hide it? Why am I so worried? I need to sort through my feelings about this, but I do not have time. Samson must be taken down.

So I left her in my bed, and went back down to my desk to look over the intelligence we've gathered about Samson again, and record these events in my journal. Knowing she is up there is…strange, but also comforting, and perhaps I will join her once I finish up writing instructions for Initiate Waldemar's treatment. I may need to refer him to Dagna. Hopefully she won't scare him out of his wits.


	36. Deep in My Blood and Bones

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

Cullen shook me awake at an early hour this morning. For a moment, I felt a bit disoriented, then I remembered I'd come looking for him to discuss the Templar hunters' information. Instead of lurking downstairs, I'd come up to his bed with a book to wait for him to return.

I suppose he'd been up working all night, but for someone who had evidently not slept that evening, he looked positively energetic. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand, which he was flipping through as I sat up.

"Inquisitor!" he said in his Commander-of-the-Inquisition voice. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried my best to look alert.

He stood up from the bed and began to pace excitedly.

"We tracked Samson's remaining Red Templars escorting a supply caravan to a hidden location in the wilderness in northern Orlais. It could be his headquarters; I expect verification within the hour, but it matches up with the information we were given by the Initiate your Templars brought with them. I've already begun preparing a squadron of soldiers to accompany us."

He cleared his throat. He appeared to be making a concerted effort to not look directly at me.

"I thought that I might…awaken you so that we could…depart if the information is good. If your duties permit."

"Yes," I said, standing up. "Right. Excellent work, Commander." He looked as if he were to about begin bouncing up and down on his toes.

"Thank you, Inquisitor."

"I'll have the rest of the party notified, and meet you back here, then." I said, then gestured at the bed. "Sorry about…that."

He nodded, and began to sort through his papers again. He hadn't met my eyes once.

I left him there, making my way down the ladder and back to the main hall, where I sent out runners to assemble my party and gave orders for my equipment to be packed and prepared. The Inquisition was up and moving.

Something was wrong. Why wouldn't he look at me?

I focused on my preparations, then returned to his office to check back in and report on my progress. He was pacing excitedly.

"Commander. What have you found?"

"We have him, Inquisitor! We've found Samson's lair. My duties usually keep me here, but for Samson?" He snarled, "I'll make an exception."

I frowned, surprised he was going to accompany us. "Samson still has that red lyrium armor."

"All the more reason for me to go." His voice was suddenly tender, and he took my hand. "I would…sleep better, if I knew I would be at your side."

"I'm not sure…" I said. I'd never traveled with him on a mission like this, but…it was obviously very important to him. "Very well," I began, as a runner entered.

Cullen dropped my hand like it had burnt him when the door opened, then hurried to sort through a stack of documents to hand some to the messenger.

He was his normal imperious self, then, nodding at me.

"We'll depart at your leave."

He was coming along on the mission. A distraction.

He hadn't wanted to look at me when I was in his bed.

He was...back to not touching me publicly again.

I don't know if I made the right decision for Cole.

The Templar hunters were here.

I found myself out in the courtyard. I don't know how I got there.

I had to make it work, could not focus on him. There was too much to do, too many people depending on me. Had I erred, pushed things with him too fast, and encroached on his person and his space? I love him, but once again, I am reminded that I do not know the steps to this dance.

I pressed my hand to my head—I needed time to think and I didn't have it. Doesn't matter now; all that matters is the mission. Temporary solution: wait, gather information. Observe what he wants based on his actions, not his words. At undetermined point in the future, analyze findings and see if…

If he actually loves me? If I can actually tolerate this? Doesn't matter. Assess the information later.

Fine, done, now move.

I was back in motion, heading up the long stairs to the great hall, when I heard someone calling my name from across the courtyard.

"Encha—Inquisitor!" I turned, and it was Knight-Captain Liam. He hurried towards me, and I paused.

He looked like he'd aged a decade in the year or so since we'd parted, but the life of a former Templar can't have been easier than the life of a mage after we'd both left the Circle. He was also not a person I wanted to see at that moment.

"Knight-Captain, I'm sorry," I began, "but I must—"

"I know," he said "you're off to hunt those things down. You still got that knife I gave you?"

"Always, Knight-Captain," I said, suddenly a bit overwhelmed now that I'd stopped moving. "And now I have the sword, too, like you always said I would." I felt like weeping, for a thousand reasons, and for no reason at all.

"Good," he beamed, "I'm proud of you. I want to see it when you get back." He handed me a thick letter. "This is for you. Ella helped me write it down; she's a good girl. Let me look at you."

He gripped my upper arms and stepped back. I was dressed in my traveling robes, holding my staff. Had to go, no time.

"You're upset about something, going in circles. I remember that look. You can't go out into the field like that. What did I teach you?" he asked gently, gentler than the hundred times he'd ever asked before.

I exhaled. Breathe, remember who you are. Remember what you are.

"I am not a woman, I am a mage," repeated, taking a deep breath, falling back into rhythms of the past, the calm coming over me again. "I am a weapon. I am fire. I am the sharp edge of a blade."

My heart slowed. When had it started beating so fast? The panic was gone.

He squeezed my arms, then said something he'd never said before: "You are magnificent. I hope you knew that, Evelyn."

I grabbed his arms, and did something I'd never done before: kissed him right beside his big bristly moustache.

"I did know that," I said, "but for a moment, I'd forgotten. Thank you, Liam." I turned and made my way up the stairs to meet my party. The Inquisitor was ready to depart for Orlais.

* * *

_A letter from Seeker Pentaghast to Sister Leliana:_

Leliana:

The trip north goes well, and we are making good progress through Orlais now that spring has truly arrived. The mixed squadron of soldiers appears to be well-trained, although the Inquisitor has been spending much of her time drilling smaller units of mages and Templars with advanced techniques on how to engage with Red Templars.

She has acknowledged to me privately that she hopes our troops will not be forced to fight the Red Templars on this journey, but we both agree that experienced units may make all the difference if a larger confrontation with Corypheus ensues in the future.

It is helpful to have experienced the sickness that their presence sometimes brings, whether it be from exposure to lyrium or simple disgust. Some of the creatures we fought at Emprise du Lion had passed nearly beyond recognition as humans, their bodies jutting with lethal spikes of the red crystals.

Since you have asked three times, and finally provided an honest excuse ("I am nosy" is much more persuasive than "Josephine needs to answer some of the Commander's admirers" or "Michel de Chevin was asking me," just so you are aware), I will tell you that the Inquisitor and the Commander are behaving very professionally on this journey.

Varric has been keeping an eagle eye on them both. I heard him mournfully telling Dorian that the pair had not surreptitiously crept into each other's tents once during the entire trip. I took this opportunity to tell him that perhaps he needed to find a new hobby, so he has commenced attempting to play "I Spy" with me whenever he can. It is highly annoying.

Two days ago, Cullen began to develop an obvious headache while we were traveling. He was terse and irritable. That afternoon, the Inquisitor rode up to speak to him, and returned with a frown. She told me she'd suggested we break early for the day, but he'd refused, so we traveled until late afternoon, when we stopped to set up camp. After his duties were finished, he joined us at our campfire, although he sat rather far away, with his back half to the fire, squinting at the light.

I was talking with Vivienne at the time, as she has been constantly harassing me about the attributes necessary for the future Divine. While she seems to be pushing me in this direction, I cannot help but notice that everything she desires for the next Most Holy also happens to coincide with skills she possesses. She has not listed "wears a large hat" yet but if she does, Leliana, I am going to punch her, I swear to the Maker.

As always, the Inquisitor had been gathering herbs all day, and began to mix Cullen some tea. She ground several bunches of greenery in her small mortar, placed the resulting paste and some water into a mug, and heated the entire container to boiling by swirling it with her finger. After the herbs steeped for a few minutes, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, and brought it over to Cullen.

"For your head," she said, and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said softly, and motioned to the ground next to him. The Inquisitor sat.

They were silent for a few minutes as he sipped the tea.

"What's in this?" he asked politely.

"The same components as usual," she said. "Elfroot, willowbark, nightcap essence."

He chuckled, then winced, placing his fingers on his temples. "Evelyn, would you…?"

"What do you need?" she asked softly.

He hesitated. "Actually, I…I'll be fine. Thank you for the tea," he said.

"Of course," she smiled, and got up. He started rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her walk away. She did not appear upset, but I think he was.

Vivienne sniffed at the whole exchange, but ceased her prattling immediately afterwards, and left me in peace. She has been sharp with everyone since the death of her…de Ghislain. Some of us have tried to speak to her, but it is obvious that she does not want sympathy from anyone. I know Evelyn aided her in some way before de Ghislain's death, but even this seems to have not altered Vivienne's attitude.

So there is your news, Sister Nosy: no news at all. We should be arriving at our destination in the next few days, so I will keep you abreast of any developments. Developments in our mission, I might add.

Cassandra

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

When we set out on this journey, I will admit that I was somewhat anxious about traveling with the Inquisitor and so many other people. Thus far, I have been overwhelmed with work, and not had any real time for personal considerations, but now, in a quiet moment, I must examine this worry, and this journal has proven to be a good place to do such things.

From the beginning, I had to focus on my main goals: make sure personally that Samson is eliminated, and ensure that Evelyn would not be placed in harm's way again because of my past.

Evelyn has been so open and honest about her affection towards me that I admit I was worried it might become a problem. Would she want to share a tent with me? My bed? Touch me affectionately when others were around? I was not sure what I would be comfortable with. We were in such a hurry when we left Skyhold that I was unable to speak to her about such matters, unable to really formulate my own ideas about what would be appropriate. I needed to focus on the mission, focus on Samson and the Red Templars.

It turned out, of course, that my concerns were not an issue. Evelyn has been nothing but cordial since we departed. She has her own tent. She does not touch me, accidentally or otherwise. She has not snuck into my bed once, not even to talk. No one would think…anything.

I am miserable. Acting, for weeks on end, like one does not care for one's beloved is…awful. I had thought I yearned for Solona, but this…there is no comparison. Two days ago, I had a terrible headache, and she brought me some tea, at least. I wanted to ask her to put her cold hand on my neck like she did in Ferelden, but I didn't. And then she went away.

So she's doing exactly what I wanted her to do, exactly what I thought would be proper, and now I am unhappy. She seems…calm, serene. It is like she knew what I was thinking when we left Skyhold, and suddenly stopped reaching towards me. That's made it obvious that I am the one playing it incredibly safe, and she was taking most of the risks.

She told me she loves me. I love her, I feel it deep in my blood and bones. Why must I hide this?

Her relationship with me will not undermine my command. My troops trust me, but they adore her. As odd as she can be sometimes, they see the goodness at her core, and know that she does not ask them to make sacrifices that she herself would not—has not, already. I've heard the jokes that come out of the barracks, but it has only served to make both of us seem more accessible, more human, to them.

Indeed, she has always tried to treat me as a man and not a Templar. Maker, I got every impossible thing I dreamed about, and more: she touched me, made love with me, wanted to plan a future after the Inquisition with me. And I am not a Templar any longer. She will always be a mage, and I would not take that away, even if I could, for it is part of who she is, like the fireflies.

So why do I feel like I will lose her, or I will be weakened, if other people find out—if someone else sees how I feel for her?

Ah, there it is; yet again, written down I can tell what this feeling really is. Another stupid Templar habit, learned the hard way. I've been holding it close to my heart, right next to where my brother's coin used to be hidden, so close I could not see it.

If you conceal the one thing you want above all else, then no one can take it away from you.

You cannot give your heart to another person and still keep it safe, but that is what I've been trying to do.

Maker, I am such a prick.

…

I went to see her after I wrote this, to apologize and try to make it right, even though I don't know how. Her tent was empty, and Dorian told me she was meditating elsewhere, and he was unsure of her location. She meditates?

We will arrive at the base soon, and I do not know how I will untangle myself from this. What have I done?


	37. It Never Stopped Screaming

_A letter from Knight-Captain Liam to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

Dear Ench Inquisitor Evelyn:

The past year's been a struggle for all of us. The Circles broke down, then there's what happened at the Conclave, and half the Templar Order's gone mad and red.

I wanted to write you this letter because a lot of things have changed for me in the past year.

First off, I'm sorry about a lot. We left you and the other mages at that lake outside Ostwick. We didn't even tell you we were leaving, we just went. I guess things were changing, and we didn't know how to exist in a new world where you could be our friend. We were cowards, and then when we heard about the Conclave, we figured you'd be there, but by then there was no way to make up for it.

You know we didn't want you with us, not at the beginning. What you said you could do sounded crazy, coming in to tell us we'd been doing things wrong, not thinking about the mages we were chasing as people, but as future abominations. And you gotta admit, Evelyn, that you don't have the most normal or charming way about you, and we were used to working with fighters, not academics. So we just…tried to stay away, minimize conversation, keep it impersonal and safe.

But after a while, you grew on us, but we'd already started out so bad that nobody knew how to fix it. We couldn't even really talk about it to each other, Templar to Templar. Since you'd had that run-in with Robin when you were a teenager, it woulda been over if anybody stepped wrong. If it looked like we were fraternizing or had become so attached to you we would hesitate if a demon took you, they would have taken you back to the Circle right away. Maybe sent you to somewhere like Kirkwall where they made nice mages with crazy ideas Tranquil, you know?

If it sounds like I'm making excuses, it's because I am. We shoulda been braver. We shoulda told you we were leaving. Carter tried to remember how many times you saved his life and he just can't, because there are too many. You still got those scars from the one time that demon hit you with a lightning bolt? He remembers that one, thought about it a lot after the Conclave.

I hope you know that when I taught you that stuff, the centering exercises and the breathing, and got you those Knight books, that I did it because I didn't know any other way to take care of you. The huge shirtless guy at the tavern says you been fighting with a new weapon recently, and if that's the case, I'm real proud if you. If it's not, you'll get there.

So I'm having Ella help me write all this sentimental crap down because I've started losing myself to the lyrium. They say sometimes it's a blessing, but all I know is there's a lot of stuff I should have done and I didn't, and I'm starting to forget what it was. So I have to tell you these things before they're gone.

First of all, you aren't just a weapon or a mage. You're not a blade, you're a person. I hope you've learned how to turn that feeling off, to be yourself when you're not fighting.

Second, don't you let anybody else treat you the way we did. I know getting yelled at during training and ignored otherwise is small stuff compared to what some other Templars mighta done, but you deserve better than that. I know it was a sacrifice you made to get out of the Circle, help people, learn new stuff, and I respect that, but there is no Circle anymore. Maybe there won't ever be a Circle and Templars again, and maybe that'll be a good thing.

Iron Bull says your ex-Templar Commander is sweet on you. He seems like a nice enough man, stick up his ass, the usual. You watch yourself around Templars, girl. The Chantry does strange things to the way they look at the world, and if he does anything to hurt you I'll kick his ass.

Liam

PS Knight-Captain Liam talks all the time about how he thinks of you as his daughter, and is sad he never got to tell you he loves you. But apparently he still can't, so I'm writing it here. I agree with everything he said, too. We were laid real low when we thought we'd lost you, sister.

-Ella

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

We saw smoke on the horizon the day we were to approach Samson's base, and I knew in my heart that we were somehow too late.

And if we were too late, if my obsession with him had cost me more than I'd anticipated, what was I to do?

Our unit of soldiers was to fan out through the area and keep an eye out for reinforcements and patrols, and the Inquisitor, myself, Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian would hit the complex. The hope was that a targeted strike would enable us to quickly find Samson and head off his escape if he was still there.

I dressed quickly that morning, slinging my shield over my back and strapping my sword to my side. It felt good, safe and familiar. It reminded me that I needed to speak to Evelyn before we went into battle, to at least tell her I love her before all this began. As if that would be enough.

I left my tent and headed for Cassandra and the Inquisitor's campfire. Cassandra was sitting in front of the fire, fully clad in her Seeker armor, sipping a cup of something warm. I nodded as I walked by her, then I pushed aside the flap of Evelyn's tent and entered.

As I did so, I heard Cassandra say, "I wouldn't—" but I went inside anyway.

She was standing with her back to me, undressed above the waist, braiding her wet hair. My mouth went dry. I hadn't touched her in weeks, and I could see the perfect curve of her breast.

She was whispering something rhythmic to herself, swaying slightly. Tying her braid off, she reached for the length of fabric at the table beside her and caught my eye. She nodded at me, and continued on as if I was not watching, slowly winding the cloth around her breasts, binding them down and tucking in the end. I saw a flash of silver there—around her neck, she was wearing the coin I'd given her.

The morning sun filtered through the thick fabric of the tent, but I could still see more of her scars than I ever had before. The old ones on her back stood out in thick bumps and ropes, and small tendrils of the newer ones crept over her shoulders like an embrace.

They reminded me that I had not made time to talk to her about her trip with Cole, and I had told her nothing of my conversations with the Ostwick Templars. I had been too obsessed with bringing down Samson and trying to hide our relationship from the light of day to care for her feelings.

"I am an asshole," I blurted.

"Yes," she agreed serenely.

She continued whispering to herself, pulling a doublet over her head and sliding her arms into her armored robe. She fastened the buckles up the front, then stopped chanting and turned around.

She walked slowly towards me, her feet still bare, and I could feel the magic in her…crackling, almost. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I gasped. Like calls to like, she'd said, but I had never been called like this before. There was so much energy, a solid core so concentrated there in her chest…I wanted to get close to her, shove my tongue in her mouth, wanted to pull her down on top of me and…

When I took a step forward, she put her hand out without touching me.

"Stop," she said. I stopped. The hair on the back of my arms stood up.

She waited. I stood there, content to luxuriate in her presence like one does in the first rays of the spring sun after winter. Her magic baked into my bones and I felt warm for the first time in weeks.

"What do you want, Commander?" she sighed.

"I…" I struggled to remember. My ears were ringing. "I came because…it's dangerous, Samson is dangerous. I wanted to tell you…I love you. Be safe."

She smiled softly at me. "Thank you. Now leave."

I left.

I stood outside her tent, blinking in the morning sun. Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra were all seated around the fire, waiting for the Inquisitor. They looked at me.

"Well, fuck," I said.

Dorian choked on his tea, and Varric jumped to his feet and hurried over to me. He tried to conceal his smile, but I still saw it.

"Curly, did you go in there while she was meditating or whatever that weird shit is?" He guided me over to a seat by the fire. "You gotta leave her alone when she does that. She gets…strange."

"I told him not to," snapped the Seeker, "but Maker forbid anyone ever listen to me. She is honing the focus of her energy," Cassandra explained. "We Seekers can do similar things, and I have seen Vivienne do something that is possibly related as well."

"I…have never heard of that," I stammered, still recovering from being so close to that much concentrated magic. "And I get the feeling that if I had, it was not something to be taught to a mage."

"But Commander," Dorian grinned, "is forbidden knowledge not the sweetest of all?"

I shook my head, clearing away the cobwebs. I heard a rustle behind me and Evelyn emerged, fully clothed, looking…normal. Composed.

"Are we ready to move? Dorian, Cullen, I know you both like to skip meals, but make sure you eat something before we leave. I don't need people passing out on the way."

Dorian sighed dramatically, rummaged around in a nearby knapsack, and pulled out two apples, a chunk of cheese and some bread. He tossed me an apple and the cheese.

"Varric, I'm assuming you have the bees, and Cassandra, you're full up on potions for everyone?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," they both responded.

"Good," she nodded and slung her staff over her back. "Let's go. Commander, you can fill us in on the available intelligence on the way there. That smoke is not a good sign."

I shoved my…everything…away, and followed the Inquisitor.

The Temple of Dumat was surrounded by heavy stone battlements, enough to make me wonder why the Tevinters saw fit to make such a holy place also so defensible against attack.

We entered the courtyard and I looked around. "This is it, the heart of Samson's command," I breathed.

Red banners bearing the Sword of Mercy were draped everywhere, and red tents had been set up, presumably to house some of Samson's troops. Half-filled crates were visible on some of the ramparts, and small fires appeared to be burning hastily-piled stacks of wood. The majority of the smoke emerged from the Temple itself.

"I don't see him anywhere," Evelyn whispered, "but there is movement ahead."

"Maker, tell me he hasn't fled," I muttered to myself.

She jerked her head at her companions, and they fanned out and began to creep further into the courtyard. Three Red Templars, their shields propped up against a nearby tent, were flinging objects—supplies, most likely—into a fire. Behind them, leaning up against the wall or lumbering about were…creatures. They were humanoid in form, perhaps ten feet tall, not including the enormous spikes of red lyrium that jutted out all over their hunched backs and shoulders.

Evelyn hung back for a second, and touched my arm, and so I paused. "Those Horrors," she said quietly. "Be very careful—they'll throw rocks of lyrium at you, or vomit it in your direction. Keep your guard up."

I nodded, grateful for the advice. She'd attempted to describe these things in her letters to me, but it was not until I was near them that I could tell how horrifically they'd been perverted and reshaped into monstrous form. They were nothing like the Red Templars I'd fought at Haven, barely human at all.

I saw Evelyn gesture, and Varric moved to the side, just behind a tent, and drew Bianca, aiming at the sky. A torrent of bolts arced up, then rained down upon the Templars. The more normal-looking guards cried out and struggled to reclaim their shields, while the three…Horrors…roared and charged towards us, disregarding the multitude of arrows sticking out of their shoulders and heads.

Evelyn slammed her staff on the ground, and a line of frost snaked forward towards the monsters, icy spikes shooting up through the earth, half-freezing, half-impaling them. Cassandra let out a cry and charged towards them, smashing one into tiny frozen chunks with a swing of her shield and burying her sword in the guts of another, ripping it out in a spray of too-red blood and bile.

The remaining creature charged towards us, and I moved in front of Evelyn and Dorian, shield raised and sword drawn. As it moved, something was emerging from its hand, and without pausing, it threw what appeared to be several sharp red crystals, about the size of my fist, in our direction. I aimed my shield carefully, and they all ricocheted off, although I was surprised by the force with which they struck. All the pieces but one, that is, which struck the ground and exploded in a cloud of razor-sharp shards.

Dorian waved his hand nonchalantly, and we three were encased in a magical barrier, the fragments of lyrium bouncing away at an odd angle.

The creature kept charging, though, and it struck at me first, swinging down a fist and arm jutting with more deadly crystals. I caught the blow on my shield, my knees nearly buckling—Evelyn was right; they were so strong!—and sunk my sword into its abdomen, twisting the weapon viciously.

What should have been a horribly painful wound did not faze it, however, and it roared at me, then began to make a disgusting retching noise. I yanked out my blade and dove to the side, coming up in a crouch just in time to see a stream of red liquid burst forth from the creature, drenching the area where I'd been. I could feel the heat of the fluid from where I stood, and it smelled sweet and seductive, like lyrium. It was repulsive, and I could not help but gag.

Dorian had retreated back, but as the creature spewed its disgusting fluid, I saw Evelyn step forward and move…into…it. Her form became briefly translucent, the vomit simply passed through her, and then her form and that of the monster overlapped for one brief second before she became…real again. The ground shuddered, there was a terrible crack and the creature was knocked several feet back behind her, falling motionless to the ground.

She continued moving forward calmly, towards the armored Templars, who by now had regained their shields and begun to engage Cassandra. Evelyn's barrier pulsed with even more energy than before, lighting crackling across the surface of her skin.

I was moving again, hurrying to place myself in front of her—why was she moving so close?—when a Templar ran at her, laying a heavy overhand blow towards her. She put her hand up instead of her staff, but the sword simply bounced off. Rather than being weakened, her barrier appeared to increase in energy, sending a bolt of electricity rippling down the Templar's sword and delivering a nasty shock.

I heard him draw in his breath with a hiss, was close enough to see the red veins crisscrossing his skin, when he exploded in a ball of Dorian's flame. He screamed and ran, making it for just a few feet before collapsing in a smoldering, twitching heap.

I ran towards Cassandra, then, who had been able to hold off the two remaining Templars with shield and careful parrying, but was unable to press her attack further. I approached from the side, when a crossbow bolt sank into the nearest Templar's shoulder.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I kicked him in the side of the knee. There was a crunch, and he fell—they're still human, and that blasted armor still crumples in the same place. I followed it up with a slash of my sword, and his head hit the ground with a spray of blood. Cassandra finished her Templar off with a deep slice into his shoulder at the same time. She braced her foot on him, and yanked her sword out as he fell.

The courtyard was silent again, save for the sizzle and pop of the burning Templar's body. The protective barrier Dorian had put around me vanished.

I hurried over to Evelyn and grabbed her arm, hissing, "What are you doing? You need to stay back with Dorian." I felt a tingling in my hand and looked down. Her barrier was still there, crackling with energy. I'd never seen a mage maintain one for so long.

She looked down at my hand, and dismissed the barrier. "We need to keep moving," she said. "These guards were obviously here to delay us and destroy evidence, and the longer we tarry, the more we will lose. I will be well." She patted my hand, so I let go of her arm, and she turned and walked away.

Varric clapped me on the shoulder as he walked past. "Don't let it get you down, Curly. The Inquisitor can take care of herself."

We slowly approached the door to the temple, Evelyn in the lead despite my disapproval. As we ascended the stairs, the huge door slammed open. We began to back down the stairs.

A moment later, an enormous scream sounded through the courtyard. In the entrance to the temple stood another monster, this one three times the size of the last. I'd received a report on these Behemoths from one of my Templar subordinates, but seeing a being made entirely out of lyrium, the crystals that formed its body jutting out at all odd angles, razor-sharp claws at the end of one arm and a handless cudgel at the other—I was not prepared. Most of all, I was not prepared for the similarities it still bore to a Templar, to the man or woman it must have once been.

The entire time we fought it, it never stopped screaming.

From behind the Behemoth emerged other figures—marksmen, Knights, more Horrors, and creatures that moved like quicksilver, low and close to the ground, their arms spikes of crystal. We were in very deep trouble.

"Cassandra, archers!" the Inquisitor ordered. "Varric, high ground! Dorian, ice! Cullen, to me—those Shadows are going to try to flank us. Take them out if you can, but watch my back! I'll slow them down."

She put her barrier up around us both, standing loose and comfortable. As she'd predicted, the Shadows ran to her right and attempted to come up behind her. I stood at her back and swung at one, but it easily evaded me—they were preternaturally fast. And then she tapped the blade of her staff lightly against the flagstones three times. I could feel her cast a powerful disruption field, and as soon as the creatures came within range, they just…stopped.

"Hit them hard, please," she called. There were four all together. The first I approached from the side, thrusting my sword in a weak spot I remembered at the waist of its armor. I pulled the sword out and used the momentum to swing at the next creature, the blade biting deep into its shoulder. I heard Dorian laugh, and the creature next to me froze, so I held my sword where it was and spun my body around, smashing my shield into the creature's helmeted face. It shattered and fell. I reclaimed my sword and looked for the next Shadow, but it was twitching at Evelyn's feet, small spikes of electrical discharge still dancing across its face.

I looked up. Cassandra had cut a path through the archers, but as she fought, the Behemoth loomed up beside her and swung its enormous arm, catching her in the side and sending her flying. She hit the wall and slid down, laying still. The creature frosted over and slowed dramatically, so it did not approach and finish her, but it was only a matter of time.

"Varric, the Knights, please," she called, and I saw a large jar of something fly over my head and land with a crash amongst the warriors to our left. A loud buzzing emerged, and the Templar Knights, who remained at least partially flesh, began to scream and scatter, swatting at themselves.

"Little help here!" yelled Dorian. I turned to see him moving towards us, frantically backing away from two Horrors who had come into melee range, slinging ice as quickly as possible. They were slowed, but still approaching. He had blood running down his face, and was gripping one hand to his side. Varric jumped down beside him and sank a flurry of bolts into one monster, which stumbled and fell, but the other kept coming. It flung a lyrium crystal in the dwarf's direction and struck him in the arm with a sickening crack. He dropped Bianca.

A moment later, I heard a whisper of air and felt the thud of an arrow before the pain blossomed through my thigh. I had gotten too far from Evelyn, and her barrier no longer surrounded me. Off-balance, I dropped momentarily to my knee and brought my shield up, but I saw more arrows coming and knew I would be unable to fully protect myself. She glanced at me, and slung her staff behind her back.

Several things happened in very quick succession. Evelyn stepped in front of me, fully in the path of the oncoming arrows. She drew something shining-a sword?—and swiped it at them, sending the bolts flying in the opposite direction. There was a crack of sound, and I saw a shockwave travel back to the remaining three archers and knock them off their feet. One of them had his own arrow in his chest.

And then she tore a hole in reality, a green gash directly above our heads.

The flagstones under our feet glowed with white symbols for a moment. She pushed her hands up—the strange magical blade glowing so blue-white I could not look directly at it—and then pulled down. There was a bone-shaking thrum of energy, and green light shot downwards and struck the ground. Half a second later, wherever that light had hit, familiar glowing fireflies floated up and swirled and danced around us in the sunlight. I started when I recognized the feeling: she was healing us. I reached down and pulled the arrow from my leg. The pain was terrible and shooting, but it only lasted for a moment, because the wound closed. The fireflies remained, bobbing and hovering near us all.

Dorian grabbed Varric with one hand and Bianca with the other, and pulled them both to the side, darting out of the way of the Horror. I turned to see Cassandra cutting down the archers, but that meant…

The Behemoth was barreling towards me and Evelyn. A streak of ice shot over my shoulder and slowed it, and a glistening green bolt seemed to immobilize its blunt arm, but the monster's sheer mass kept it moving forward towards us.

"Get your sword up high, Cullen, and brace yourself." Evelyn called above its terrible screams, and calmly watched it approach. "A forty-five degree angle would be optimal." A few feet closer, and she went—through—the creature and then became solid again, her form overlapping with it for just a moment, and then it was…pushed...out of the space she inhabited with an incredible amount of energy and another loud crack. The force of the blast propelled the creature down and forward to its knees—and onto my sword. I felt something in my shoulder tear as its weight bore down upon me, but just as quickly as the pain had come, it vanished.

I let go of the hilt as it tumbled towards me and dove out of the way. The creature still lived, however, and caught itself on its grotesque clawed arm.

Standing behind the Behemoth, Evelyn pulled down an enormous bolt of lightning that rippled through the creature, paralyzing it just long enough for her to plunge her strange blade into its back, all the way to the hilt.

I initially thought I'd been deafened by the thunderbolt, but then I realized: it had finally stopped screaming.

I turned to see that Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian had chased down the remaining Knights. Only one remained, but Dorian blasted him with a wave of force that pushed him back within Cassandra's reach, and the Templar's head hit the ground, followed a few seconds later by his body.

It was quiet again, only the sounds of fire and the harshness of our breath. The fireflies flickered around me for another second or two, then vanished. Suddenly light-headed, I bent over, my hands on my knees, and vomited up my apple and hunk of cheese.

Evelyn gently took my hand and pulled me away from the body of the Behemoth. The air smelled pungent, like raw lyrium. I could barely stand.

"It's making you sick, Cullen," she said gently. "You need to get away from it."

She led me to some stairs to the battlements, as far away from the Templar corpses as she could find. She stroked my hair and held a cool hand on the back of my neck as I retched.

"The same thing happened to us all the first time we fought them," Cassandra said stiffly. The sympathy in her voice sounded unnatural to my ears, but it was there nonetheless. "Sometimes it still occurs. It will pass soon enough."

"Should we go in without him?" asked Dorian. "There's bound to be more deposits inside, even if we've killed all of the bastards."

Varric handed me a skin of water. I rinsed my mouth and spat, then drank. Evelyn had stopped touching me, and I missed the feeling of her hands.

"Give him a moment," Evelyn said. "It's important that he be here. He has worked for this."

I pulled off one of my gloves, grabbed one of her hands in both of mine. Her fingers were still cool to the touch.

"Maker, Evelyn, I'm sorry," I said desperately.

"It is fine, Commander," she said, lightly trying to tug her hand away. "As Cassandra said—"

"That's not what I meant," I said, and pressed an urgent kiss to the center of her palm. "I love you and I'm sorry I've been such a…such a prick."

A blush spread across her cheekbones. I saw Cassandra raise an eyebrow, while Varric rocked back on his heels and grinned, casting a knowing glance at Dorian. The mage rolled his eyes at the dwarf's look. I didn't care.

"Now is…not the time to discuss this, Cullen," she said, trying harder to pull her hand away.

"Oh, by all means, discuss!" Dorian chimed in. "I'm suddenly in much less of a hurry to go inside than I was before."

"Commander!" she snapped, yanking her hand from mine. "My magical techniques depend on me maintaining a degree of calm and…and inner focus. I will talk to you about this, but not now. I am going to go over there," she pointed haphazardly in a direction, "and attempt to compose myself. You are going to stay here where you belong."

She stood up and strode to the opposite side of the courtyard. She turned her back to us, and crossed her arms around her torso, swaying just a bit.

Varric snickered. "So much for serenity." He elbowed Dorian. "I told you."

"No," Dorian sneered, "I told you. Literally months ago. I complemented the Inquisitor for her exquisite taste in strapping Templars, and she said—"

"Enough," snapped Cassandra. "Cease your inane and disrespectful prattling."

I ignored them and watched Evelyn until she returned. Her face and eyes were relaxed again, her posture loose. She was right. Now was not the time, but after seeing that enormous creature so close to her, I had to try.

"I apologize for the delay," she said calmly. "Shall we continue?"

We went through the open door of the Temple of Dumat, giving the bodies of the monstrous Templars a wide berth.


	38. Poisonous in More Than One Way

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

The interior of the Temple of Dumat was in an even greater state of destruction than the exterior. The air was oppressive, thick with smoke and the poisoned vibrations of red lyrium. It reminded me of Emprise du Lion, the sour smell and overall sense of the unnatural, permeating everything.

Cullen was visibly upset, muttering, "This place is already half destroyed. Samson must have ordered his Templars to sack his headquarters so we couldn't."

"Sorry, Curly," Varric shrugged, "someone tipped Samson off that you were coming."

"I think you're right," Cullen sighed, "Still, we've dealt Samson a blow."

"The ventilation in here is poor," I observed. "We need to move quickly and recover what we can. Our troops can sweep the area when we have ensured it's safe, but something might remain now. We should investigate."

I moved into the grand hall, and observed a human figure among the wreckage. As I approached, I saw the distinctive brand of a Tranquil upon his forehead.

He was propped up against a fallen table, his breath shallow and his skin pallid. While this might have been because of the noxious atmosphere in the Temple, I assumed it was more. I knelt beside him and pressed my hand to his neck to check his pulse.

He opened his eyes, and said, "Hello, Inquisitor."

"You know me?" I asked, interested in keeping him talking and conscious. His heart rate was shallow and erratic, but I was not enough of a healer or botanist to identify what might be wrong.

Cullen loomed up behind me. "It's Maddox, Samson's Tranquil. Something's wrong. I'll send for the healers-"

"That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen." As one might expect, his voice was devoid of expression, but it sounded breathy and weak to my ear. "I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won't be long now."

"We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox," I said, putting the back of my hand on his forehead. He must have been in terrible pain, and who knows what effects the extended contact with red lyrium might have had. I was already beginning to feel lightheaded.

"That was what I could not allow. I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape."

"You threw your lives away?" Cullen demanded, "For Samson? Why?"

"Samson saved me even before he needed me," wheezed Maddox. "He gave me purpose again. I…wanted to help…" His head fell forward onto his chest, he breathed a few more times, and then nothing. I shook my head at Cullen. He turned away.

"We should check the camp," he snapped. "Maddox might have missed something."

We fanned out throughout the room and began to search. I stayed close to Cullen, worried that the exposure to red lyrium, combined with the ongoing stress to his system from withdrawal, might make him ill again. This strike against Samson had been everything to him for a long time, and I hoped my presence might lend some support. That is, if he was willing to accept it.

His behavior here and in the courtyard was erratic at best. He seemed to be alternating between periods of extreme concern for me and this fixation he has on Samson. I did not know what it meant, but I was not prepared to respond to personal matters in the middle of a battlefield. This place was poisonous in more than one way.

"A dismal place to die," Cassandra observed, pushing aside the wreckage of a cabinet.

Cullen snorted, saying, "It can't have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson's command."

"What else do you remember about Samson?" I asked. "The man he used to be?"

"Does it matter?" Cullen snapped. "'He used to be kind' only carries so far. Yet Maddox died to help him escape. Samson does command loyalty."

"I asked primarily because I thought you had knowledge of his personal habits," I said mildly. "If he'd hidden something somewhere, for example, you might be able to add insight. Perhaps there is something in the camp that might help, or point us to Samson."

"It's hard to tell," he sighed. "All I see is smoke and ash. If this is Samson's idea of remaking the world, I prefer yours."

We searched the room and found nothing of import, only pieces of destroyed furniture, scraps of paper damaged beyond recognition and, of course, the enormous spikes of red lyrium.

"We should investigate further into the Temple," I said, "but we can't leave Maddox here. He needs to be properly laid to rest."

Cullen shot me an unreadable glance, then said, "I'll have someone take care of it. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less."

The next room appeared to be Samson's bedroom. There was a pile of burnt wood and embers that had once been a bed, a desk, and a few storage containers that appeared to have remained intact.

On the desk, a piece of paper was placed on top of the others. Cullen picked it up and examined it.

"Samson left a message. For me."

"What does it say?" I asked.

"'Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You're fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power.' And other such nonsense. Does he think I'll understand? What does he know?" He tossed the paper back down on the desk in disgust and moved away towards the next doorway, so I followed.

Cassandra poked at an open chest containing the remnants of a variety of books and manuscripts. They appear to have been set aflame, but were now merely smoldering. "This must've been Maddox's room."

"The fire couldn't destroy these entirely, whatever they are," called Varric from the corner. He stood beside a mostly-ruined work bench, holding up a pair of what appeared to be broken tongs.

Dorian looked at the tools, or at least what remained of them, and breathed, "Those are lyrium-forging instruments, of remarkable design. Intact, they'd be worth a fortune."

"Tranquil often design their own tools," I observed. "Dagna should be able to make sense of them."

Cullen scratched at his stubble excitedly. "If Maddox used these to make Samson's armor, maybe Dagna could use them to unmake it. We have him."

"Excellent," I said. "We should gather up what we can and send our troops to retrieve the rest. If we don't leave now—"

"We should take it all right now," Cullen snapped. "We can't risk leaving anything behind. What if—"

A headache began to throb deep at the base of my skull, and I felt the calm from my meditations slowly seeping away. I put my hands on my hips. Dorian cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. Cassandra began to pack faster. Varric stood there, grinning like an idiot.

"Cullen," I snapped, "I am tired, and my lungs are full of smoke and that red poison is slowly killing us all, me especially. If you choose to disregard my orders and want to try to haul a blasted anvil or whatever that lump is out of here by yourself, that is fine, but don't expect me to allow your unhealthy obsession with Samson to cause any more damage than it already has."

I picked up a stack of some kind of metal plates and tossed them into my bag. Good enough.

"Wait," he stuttered, "I-what do you mean?"

"It means for all your professions of love, you care more about Samson right now. He can have you—I'm leaving. And don't breathe too much smoke or lyrium dust: I can't heal you." I turned to the rest of the party and said, "Grab what you can and let's go."

Cullen stood there, blinking. I walked away. I was in no state for an argument, and needed to get out of there-fast.

Following behind me, I heard Varric say to Dorian in a stage whisper, "Oh, she can heal. It just splits the fabric of the world open like an overripe fruit."

"Yes," Dorian chuckled, "but as far as I've been able to determine, she also can't be mad as hell when she does it. Otherwise, who knows what might come out?"

"My money's on ants," Varric surmised, "or wasps. Probably wasps."

Cassandra just shook her head.

I lugged the bag out of the Temple without looking behind me, my head pounding. By the time I reached my horse, my lungs were burning and I was racked with chills.

I placed the sack down on the ground, and sat down beside it. I closed my eyes to rest for just a moment, and was startled, when I opened them, to then find myself face-forward on the ground.

"Inquisitor?" I heard Cassandra say. "Dorian, I need you! Hurry!"

"Too much," I coughed.

There was a flurry of running footsteps, and I felt myself being pulled upright. I began to shake even harder in the suddenly-cold air. Someone pressed a hand to my face.

"Maker, she's burning up! What's happening?" I heard Cullen ask desperately.

"The blanket, please, Dorian." Cassandra ordered, and I found myself hoisted up and immediately swathed in something that smelled like fur and smoke. "She is more susceptible to the effects of red lyrium than some, although this happens to everyone occasionally. Except Varric, and myself."

"Don't worry about me," he quipped, "no fever, I'm just going quietly insane over here."

"We think it's because she doesn't use lyrium potions, but that's just a guess," Dorian said. I felt something else being tucked around me and added to the fabric I was swaddled in. "She should be fine, Commander, we just need to get her back to camp so she can rest for a day or so. It was worse for us in Emprise du Lion, believe me. Even I became…positively sweaty."

"Ugh," I coughed, harder than before, "don't jostle me."

"You should also be careful, Commander," Cassandra said. "You yourself seemed ill earlier."

"Hand her up to me," Cullen ordered next to my ear. "I'll take her back to camp."

I was jostled a lot, which made me cough. This made my head hurt, so I put it down on something cool and happily passed out.


	39. Half Agony, Half Hope

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

When I awoke, I was pleased to find myself significantly warmer. I moved my head experimentally and tapped my temple, but I did not appear to have a splitting headache. All in all, I felt relatively well, if a bit fuzzy-headed and slightly…drunk, so I applied myself to focusing my eyes on my surroundings.

I was in a tent. Brilliant, I thought, you've pieced it together. No wonder they made you the Inquisitor.

At least some of my possessions appeared to be in this tent—I could see my knapsack in a corner, the grimoire on the table—but none of them were in the correct places. Additionally, this tent was larger than mine. Plus: armor stand, piles of papers, large boots. Conclusion: not my tent.

I wiggled out of the bedroll—also larger than mine, why does he get a bigger bed—got my legs underneath me, and stood up. I was wearing a white cottony tunic that came down to about mid-thigh. I'd never seen it before, but it obviously belonged to a man. I poked around in my knapsack, but the guilty party who had moved some of my things had not thought to include any clothing, including undergarments. Wonderful.

I pressed my hand to my head. The situation was odd. Had I done something scandalous? No, I'd passed out after excessive exposure to red lyrium, not liquor. I looked around the tent. I heard voices outside. If my conclusions were correct, I was about to embarrass myself terribly.

I had to leave. I was in no state to talk about…anything right now, and I had a much more pressing need.

I poked my head outside of the flap of the tent. There was a small table set up in front, with a map spread on it. Three of Cullen's lieutenants were standing around it, giving orders to runners, passing off paperwork, and generally being busy in a military sort of way. Thank the Maker, I recognized one of the lieutenants, a woman named Smythe.

I cleared my throat. Everyone looked at me, froze, and then there was a chorus of "Inquisitor!"

"Lieutenant Smythe, could I speak to you for a moment?" I asked politely, and beckoned her into the tent.

"Uh, of course, Inquisitor!" she said, dropped her paper, and came inside.

"Lieutenant, I am assuming that I am in this tent because Commander Cullen had some idiotic idea about me recuperating here."

She shifted uncomfortably, not looking directly at me.

"That's not a question," I said, "so you don't have to answer that. However, I would like for you to do something for me: go to my tent, and bring me the canvas bag next to my bedroll."

"Inquisitor, Commander Cullen said—"

"Lieutenant, I don't care what he said. Any opinions or orders he had or gave you were invalidated the moment he left me here without pants, and no way of leaving without traipsing around half-clothed. You just don't take a woman's armor without asking. You understand, right, Smythe?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Lieutenant," I put my hand on her shoulder, "your mission is critical. I need to go to the privy. Will you please go get my clothing? Fast?"

She saluted, "Yes, Inquisitor!" and was out the door and gone in a moment. While she was gone, I looked through my knapsack, finding little of use.

She returned a blessedly short amount of time later, having also had the presence of mind to bring me my boots.

"Thank you, Smythe," I said as I wiggled into my breeches. "I'm sure if I were a man I could have pissed into any number of the hollow objects in this tent without a problem, but as it is, pants were a necessity."

She stared at me for a moment, then grinned and saluted me, fist over her heart. "Yes, Inquisitor."

"I'm off, Smythe," I returned her salute. "I couldn't have done it without you. Now if you'll excuse me?"

I walked briskly out of the tent, nodded at the other lieutenants, then made my way to the privy. I will record the events at the Temple of Dumat at a slightly later date, when I am feeling less ridiculous.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

I was terrified when Evelyn became so ill, and incredibly guilty. I was desperate to heal this rift that I caused to emerge between us, and again my obsession with Samson caused me to disregard her needs and behave like an enormous idiot.

Cassandra assured me that she would sleep all day, and awaken tomorrow feeling fine, if a bit disoriented. I had the healers treat her in my tent, because that is where she belongs and I hoped to be able to keep a closer eye on her.

As I might have deduced had I not had my head shoved up my ass, none of my subordinates blinked an eye about the sleeping arrangements, including the former Templars, and none of the common soldiers immediately deserted in disgust. I attempted to grab some of her belongings from her tent, but was called away to deal with a supply chain issue that lasted into the afternoon.

I checked in on Evelyn afterwards and found her sleeping. I felt better knowing she was there, and wrote some quick messages at my desk while she snored, just to be close to her. I had placed her spellbook on my desk, and having it there was…nice. When I finished, I tucked my correspondence away, and headed out to do my evening inspections.

When I returned, she was not there, although the grimoire remained. Maker, where had she gone?

I grabbed the book, strode out of the tent, and barked at my lieutenants, "Where's the Inquisitor?"

Everyone turned to stare at Lieutenant Smythe, who started guiltily.

"Smythe, where's the Inquisitor? I ordered you to keep her here."

"Well, sir," she cleared her throat, "the Inquisitor ordered me to…to bring her some pants."

"What? Why?" I asked, stupidly.

"She…she said that she didn't want to go 'traipsing around half-clothed,' Commander."

"And where did she traipse to, Smythe?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Uh," she stuttered, "to the privy, sir?"

"Smythe," I ground out, placing my hand on my face, "I am going to ask you again: where is the Inquisitor?"

"Oh! She went back to her tent afterwards, sir. I made sure she reached it safely."

"Maker preserve me!" I threw my hands in the air and stalked off towards Evelyn's tent.

I came around the side of the tent, and froze in the shadows. She was sitting around the fire with Cassandra, Varric and Vivienne. There would be no chance to talk to her alone. Perhaps I would just…return the book and leave a short note asking her to come and see me. That would be better, especially since Vivienne was there.

"I think the usual tea you drink for this should serve you well, darling," Vivienne said condescendingly. "Even as you maintain your focus, you must remember to pay attention to the needs of your physical form. We can't have you collapsing all the time, now can we?"

She stood up, picked up her bag, and seemed to be about to leave, when she caught a snippet of Cassandra and Varric's conversation from the other side of the fire.

"Am I to understand that your Bianca is…married?" Cassandra asked, her brow creased.

Varric rolled his eyes skyward. "Oh, have we reached the stage where we gossip about each other's love lives? Hey, how's your love life, Inquisitor?"

"Nonexistant, as per usual," she shot back at Varric, "although I'm sure you all find things to gossip about anyway. Why, are you interested? Will you wear the chartreuse dressing gown?"

"It was a simple question, Varric," Cassandra frowned.

"There was nothing simple about it. You brought up Bianca, Seeker; does that mean I can ask about your conquests?"

I knew a friend of Varric's had visited Skyhold in some weeks past, and I wondered if the Bianca they were talking about was the originator of the crossbow's name. Speaking of her evidently caused him pain.

Which is probably why Vivienne turned around and sat next to the Inquisitor to listen to the rest of the conversation. She must have smelled blood. While everyone's back was to me, I took the opportunity to slip into Evelyn's tent to replace her book.

"Very well, Varric," Cassandra sighed. "If you wish to know about men I have known, I will tell you."

"Look, Seeker, I was only…"

"You were right." She hesitated. "I pried first, and fair is fair. Years ago, I knew a young mage named Regalyen. He was dashing, unlike any man I'd met. He died at the Conclave."

"Oh." Varric seemed downright speechless, for once. Unfortunately, from the desk, I could see only Evelyn and Vivienne through the gap in the tent's flap.

"What we had was fleeting, and years have passed." She paused. "Still, it saddens me to think he's gone."

"I'm sorry. Look, Seeker, I didn't mean to make you talk about your mage friend."

"I know. I was not trying to make you speak of Bianca. If I was, you would know. I would yell, books would be stabbed." I could hear a hesitant smile in her voice.

"I'll keep that in mind," Varric chuckled. The tension in the air appeared to have dissipated. "We write letters. Now and then we manage to meet up. Technically the smith caste says we're not supposed to be within 300 leagues of each other. And yes, she's married."

"Marriage is the business of alliance and inheritance," Vivienne stood up and sniffed. I can't even imagine what Varric's facial expression was at that moment, but I was glad I was in the tent and not out there.

Cassandra spoke with deep disapproval. "And how did his wife feel about your arrangement with the Duke de Ghislain, Madame Vivienne?"

"Why, she was a lovely woman," Vivienne said graciously. "We often went to the theatre together. Romantic partners should be chosen with an eye towards the…appropriateness of the match, and then the love will last. Varric, your…Bianca was not of the same caste as you, and Cassandra, a mage and a Seeker? Of course it did not—"

"Stop it right now, Vivienne," the Inquisitor snapped. "Stop. I know that you are still grieving the loss of de Ghislain, but this is unreasonable and cruel."

"Why, Inquisitor, I was merely—"

"No, you weren't 'merely' doing anything, you were trying to inflict the pain you are feeling on someone else. You loved the Duke, but how long until you must find another aristocratic lover to open doors for you? And you got lucky—you'd have had to find another sponsor years ago if he'd tired of you and set you aside. All very mercenary, 'loving' who you need to, in order to get what you want."

Evelyn stood.

"But some people do not forget as soon as they are forgotten. Some people keep loving, even after existence and hope are gone. You do not get to sneer at those people, not today."

"Inquisitor—"

"Go away, Vivienne. I thought you might have come here because you were lonely, or because you wanted to talk. Maybe you did, but you aren't capable of it. If you can only mourn the loss of the man you love by hurting other people, then there is something very wrong with you."

I heard footsteps as Vivienne swept off.

There was a long silence, then Varric laughed, "Andraste's flaming knickers, Inquisitor, that was amazing. I don't know what kind of morning meditation you did, but you are kicking ass today! Come on, let's go back to my tent and I'll give you something dwarven to drink that'll put hair on your chest."

"You've obviously been overindulging in whatever this is already, Varric," Cassandra snorted, and their voices began to move.

"People always want to give me drinks that put things on my chest," observed the Inquisitor mournfully. "But I don't need anything additional there. Bull promised me something to put 'chest on my chest.' I don't even know what that means."

Their laughter faded away.

I slipped out of the tent, unseen, aching. I'd left her a letter. I hoped it was good enough.

As I walked away, though, I crossed paths with Vivienne, who was gliding towards her tent. When she saw me, she seemed to stumble a little, then righted herself and continued on her way. I think she might have been crying.

* * *

_A hastily written letter, folded up and placed prominently on Inquisitor Trevelyan's grimoire:_

Evelyn:

When I saw you were with people tonight, I thought I would simply return your book and try to speak to you later. But I can't just listen anymore. I have to tell you this, and this letter is what I have, so I'll use it.

Evelyn, I am half agony, half hope. Please tell me that I'm not too late, that these weeks have not been enough to erase your feelings for me. I still love you, only you. I have been a complete ass, worrying about things that don't matter, and I hurt you, but I never stopped loving you, I swear it.

I tried to tell you this today, at the Temple, but maybe I didn't explain well enough, maybe it was the wrong time. I heard what you told Vivienne. I can hardly write, but—I haven't forgotten you. I don't know how to fix things, but my feelings are the same as they were before. Maker, please, let it be enough. I remain

Yours,

Cullen

I must go, but please, just respond somehow. If you don't want me, I promise I'll never bother you again, but I have to know. A word, a look, would be enough.


	40. What the Sparrows Do

Author's Note:

This chapter is NSFW, y'all.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

I am back at the Circle Tower, imprisoned in a magical barrier. I kneel and recite the Chant with my brothers as they are taken away, one by one. Finally, there are just two of us left. I turn to my last brother, and it is Samson. He whispers something to me.

"I used to be kind," he says. "Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You're fighting the wrong battle."

Uldred's abominations drag him away. He screams for me to help him, but I turn my head away.

Then, I am alone. The desire demon appears, her body uncovered. I look away, close my eyes, shut her out of my mind.

"What is it that you want, my dearest? Most of all?"

I open my eyes, and Solona is there. She is just as beautiful as she always is, her hair just as red, her eyes so blue. She begins to undo the front of her robes, and I start to prepare myself for her eventual attack. She crosses through the barrier like it is not there, and kneels beside me. I shiver at her closeness, knowing what will come.

As her lips approach mine, I close my eyes and cry out, "Demon, begone! You cannot tempt me!"

Instead of a kiss, it tries to grab me, but I push it away. Its head hits the stone floor with a crack. I get up to investigate, and it appears to be dead, blood pooling around its head as it lays on its side. I sit down next to it, breathing hard.

I turn to look at the body of the demon again, and it is Evelyn. She looks at me with dead eyes, blood seeping out of her mouth, and says, "She doesn't come back."

I am naked; we just spent the night making love. She smells like lavender and my body. Mine, I think to myself as she leans over and places her hand on my chest, she is mine.

"Bad dream?" she asks. Her eyes are the grey-green of the elfroot plants she digs in the garden. Her neat braid falls over her shoulder as she leans close to me.

"They always are," I reply. "Without lyrium, they're worse."

She strokes the scar on my face. "I love you. You know that, correct?"

I want to reply, but I cannot, and I am seized with the most profound despair. I cannot tell her, my voice does not work, and she will leave, this time forever. My agony escapes in a terrible moan, but I am no longer capable of speech.

"Hey," she says softly, next to me. "You're having a bad dream." I pull her down next to me, but she doesn't want to come, resists. Finally, she sighs, "Fine," and rests her head on my chest and I drape my arm around her, pulling her close. She smells like lavender and wood smoke and a bit of alcohol.

I eventually feel something wet on my chest. It is dark in the tent, but I can tell she is crying.

"I love you," I whisper to her, as if she were real. "You came back."

She cries for a long time: big, racking sobs that shake us both. I know it's my fault that she is crying, but I don't know what to do. I wrap both my arms around her and hold her tight until it subsides and she sleeps, and then I follow her into darkness.

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:_

It was stupid of me to try to go to talk to Cullen after I read his note.

I read the damn thing outside my tent to catch the light of the fire, and when I looked up, Cole was there, looking agitated.

"You're hurting," he said. "Normally you're too bright, too loud, but you're screaming. The Templar feeds the quick little birds at the Tower when he has crumbs in his pocket, but what do the sparrows do when he forgets?"

"Thank you, Cole," I said, squeezing his arm softly. "I'll go talk to him." Cole shook his head.

"You don't think it will work. I don't understand. He's hurting too," Cole whispered, "A swift kick to the side of the knee: the Templar armor always crumples in the same place. He hides the things he treasures, like a coin kept safe next to his heart."

"Stop, Cole," I said. "I need him to tell me these things himself, if he's going to. It's not right that I hear them from you."

"But—" he sat down by the fire, looking bewildered.

"I will go, Cole." I tucked the letter into my pocket and headed over to Cullen's tent.

The guard stationed nearby saluted me, then sauntered to another location nearby, a bit further out of earshot. I nodded my thanks and went into the tent.

I knew what I wanted to say to him, but when I tried to wake him up, he just pulled me down next to him, slung an arm and a leg over me, and went back to sleep. It seems that I should stay away from this man while he slumbers, or I am likely to get pulled down and slept upon all the time.

So I lay there, listening to him breathe, and thinking about things for a long time. I thought about how the Templars had used me, I thought about how the mages I'd rescued had called me a traitor, I thought about myself, locked in a basement for three weeks, trying not to die, tormented by a demon. I thought about the stories that I'd had to tell to myself, to other people, to make these things seem like they had not scarred me horribly. Funny, then, that I am still covered in scars.

I thought about how calm, how rational I have been for so many years. How…tranquil. For so long, I compromised because I had no other choice. It was what I needed to do to get what I wanted: research opportunities, time with students before their Harrowings, time in the garden, time outside the Circle, time for combat training. Maker knows, I did what I had to do. I'm not so different from Vivienne in that regard, I suppose.

What do I want now that I am out of the Circle, that the opportunities are grand? I want…a world where the Circle does not ruin the lives of mages and Templars alike. I want Corypheus defeated and every single hole in the sky closed. And Maker knows, I want this man. I want him so bad my lower back aches and my teeth itch and my soul just writhes. He makes me feel like…not a mage, not a weapon, but a woman.

But he'd stopped treating me that way. He'd shut down, closed me out. Decided…something…about our relationship while I was in the field—he'd never even told me what the problem between us was, much less what his intended solution was even supposed to be. Was it about control, like in the Circle? The Templars decided and I went along, or whatever I wanted got taken away.

I wasn't willing to live my life that way anymore, tranquil under their control, waiting for them to make decisions for me and explain their reasoning later-but only if they felt like it.

So that's when I cried. I cried for the life I'd had to lead, so serene and passionless; and the mages, the ones I couldn't bring home, and the ones I did, cursing at me for saving their lives; and the hunters, who weren't allowed to love me even if they'd wanted to. I cried for Vivienne, lashing out like a wounded animal; and Varric, forever waiting for someone he couldn't have; and Cassandra, resigned to being alone.

But mostly I cried for my future, because I wanted that man so fiercely, down in my guts, but I'd discovered there were things I was no longer willing to do just to make sure I got what I wanted.

He had wrapped his arms around me, and said in the most sleepy, relieved voice, "You came back." And I cried because I wasn't sure if I had.

I didn't mean to fall asleep on him, but I awoke to the jingle of armor as the watch changed outside of his tent. It was just a bit past midnight. I managed to extract myself from his grasp and put a bit of distance between our bodies. Next to the bedroll, I pulled my legs up and rested my arms and head on my knees, thinking about what to do. I considered writing him a letter, but so much of what I had to say to him depended on what he had to say to me.

And perhaps some things are just handled better in person.

Around the point I had decided to go back to my own tent and attempt to talk to him privately tomorrow, I felt a small touch between my shoulder blades. I jumped and hissed in surprise, turning to see that Cullen had awakened and silently moved close enough to touch me. The tent was not completely dark, light coming in from nearby torches, and I could see his bare torso through the shadows. I looked away.

"I thought I was dreaming," he said, looking at me with the saddest brown eyes, "but you're here."

"This was a mistake," I announced, and began to get up, but he touched me lightly on my back again, as if he were trying to find out if I were real. I sighed and sat back down again.

"I had a dream," he began, "that we were together at Skyhold, and you told me you loved me, just like before. But I couldn't talk. I couldn't use my voice, couldn't tell you how I felt. It was…one of the worst nightmares I've ever had."

"Sounds appropriate," I huffed.

"Please stay," he said softly. "I don't know how to make it right, but if you tell me what to do, I'll try, I swear it."

I leaned back and looked at the ceiling of the tent. "Cullen, I told you how I felt about you. It was…one of the most important things that has ever happened to me. And you said…well. Anyway. But something changed for you while I was in Redcliffe with Cole. Something made you change your mind. And it was the same old Templar shit: you had the control, you made the decision, and you didn't even bother to talk to me about it. You didn't have the decency to tell me what was wrong. I waited weeks. I'm still waiting."

"That isn't what happened," he protested weakly.

"No?" I snapped, "Well, it's certainly what it felt like to me. Why don't you tell me your version of reality, then?"

He looked away from me, took a deep breath. "I got scared. What I feel for you is unlike anything I have ever felt before. I cherish it, hold it so close to my heart. I love you, Evelyn. And it doesn't make any sense, but I wanted to keep it for myself. The Templars taught me that…whatever you hold dearest, you have to hide it, because otherwise someone will come and take it away from you. They took so much from me, Evelyn. I used to believe in so many things, and the Templars ruined me."

"I was afraid if people…saw…that we would just be reduced to being a Templar and a mage again. And I thought if I could bring down Samson that I could erase the very last piece of my past, and maybe we could start fresh when it was over. But there were so many people on this mission, I…froze up when I was around you."

"So, without talking to me, you pulled back, stopped even looking me in the eye, and allowed me to think that you had stopped loving me, that you were ashamed of me, for weeks? And you somehow thought this was going to keep our relationship...safe?"

"I didn't say it made sense," he said, a little defensively.

"Cullen," I said, "that explanation makes so little sense that I must assume it is the truth, because the way you were acting made no fucking sense either."

"Is…that good?" he asked hopefully.

"It means I believe that you were not playing games with me, but had instead taken temporary leave of your senses. You were still incredibly cruel to me, just not on purpose. I suppose that is somewhat better, but why you did it does not negate how you made me feel. You made me feel like you didn't want me, like you were ashamed of me. It's not the first time it's happened, and maybe it's going to get worse. I can't tolerate that."

"I do want you," he said, inching a bit closer on his knees, "and I'm not ashamed of you. It's why I had the healers move you here, why I was bringing your things to my tent. I wanted you to see that I'm proud to be with you, that I wasn't trying to hide what we have."

"I'll be honest, Evelyn." He rubbed his face. "It's just…sometimes I have to fight and push against years of conditioning. It's…difficult. I gave them half of my life. I can't even promise it won't happen again," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

It was a relief that he was telling me the truth, owning up to the fact that he might not be able to control his old habits. I had worried that I'd come to see him, receive lots of vague promises to change immediately, and then have to walk right back out again. This felt real, at least. I could work with real.

"The first thing you need to fight and push against is your inability to tell me what is bothering you. If you had just told me what was happening, then we could have come up with something that worked for both of us. At least I would have had a voice in the matter. Did you ever think for a second about how I'd feel? I'm a person, too, Cullen. I bleed." I sniffled, wiped my face. Crying wouldn't help.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know how to tell you. I was only thinking of myself. And then, when I realized, I didn't know what to do to fix it."

"Well, now I have told you what you need to do," I snapped, irritated that I'd been sniveling. "You can talk to me, treat me as an equal in this, or you can't. If you can't, then I will move on. It will hurt terribly, worse than anything ever has, I think, but I will survive. If we try this again—and I'm not saying we will—and you go silent or shut me out without an explanation, we are done. I will no longer tolerate that in my life. I can't. And I don't deserve it."

"That's fair." He hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes I feel like there is so much of my past holding me back. I want to say that I will talk to you, but I cannot guarantee that it will be true, at least in the beginning."

"I see," I said. No empty promises, at least, but was he willing to propose a solution?

"Often I…cannot think of the right thing to say to you. If that is the case, may I write you a letter? I often find it easier to express myself to you in that manner."

"Cullen," I said, beginning to feel relieved, "you may always write me letters. I don't care, as long as you try. Maker, Josephine says there's an entire language of flowers in the Orlesian court. Send me a bouquet! But we are so far apart so often, for so long, that if we don't work together, if we don't communicate as equal partners, we won't last. And I deserve better than that. We both do."

He reached out and took my hand.

"I want to be with you. I want it more than anything. And I will try to do what you ask, and if what I try doesn't work, then I'll try something else until I find something that does."

"All right," I said. "And I will try to be clear with you about what I need, and tell if you something you did is hurting me, instead of blindly accepting it."

He sighed with what seemed like relief, and pressed my hand to his heart. I could feel it beating there very quickly, the soft vibration of the lyrium in his body calling to mine.

"I asked you before, but…will you stay? Move all of your things here with me, where you belong," he added breathlessly, before I could reply. He had inched his way up, and was kneeling right next to me.

I began to relax some of the tension in my back and shoulders, and allowed myself to laugh. "How could I resist such a generous offer, considering we're leaving here in two days?"

I reached over and pulled his head down to rest on my chest, wrapping my arms around him. His arms fell around my waist, and I could feel him shaking. "Oh, my cabbage," I said, running my hand through his hair, "what are we going to do with each other?"

"I think that…" he sighed, and I felt him beginning to relax as well, "I think that we keep trying until we get it right." He peered at me in the darkness. "You said yes, right? You'll stay?"

"Yes—" I began, but as soon as I'd said it, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me backwards, so we tumbled back into the bed, with my back on top of his chest. I let out a small shriek of laughter and he rolled us both to the side, pulling me with him. Curling himself around me, he buried his face in my hair and let out a satisfied sigh. I tried to stifle a yawn, and he chuckled in my ear.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. He held me close, and his warmth soaked into my back and legs. "Unless you wanted to talk to me about something else."

"No, I am satisfied if you are. And Cullen?" I said sleepily. "The Templars didn't ruin you. I still like who you are now."

He kissed the top of my head, and I drifted off.

I awoke a few hours later, at some indeterminate period between midnight and dawn. Cullen had moved away from me while we slept, so I scooted myself back towards him. He coughed, then inched away. I followed again, knowing that there was only so far he'd be able to go without hitting the edge of the bedroll. Apparently, he had reached this point, because he hesitated for a moment, then rolled over so his backside was pressed against me.

"Are you headed back to Ferelden already, then?" I mumbled.

He sighed, "I was trying not to wake you."

"Well, I'm awake now," I observed. "Where were you going? Come back and hold me."

"Andraste's ass, Evelyn," he hissed, "I just didn't want to…disturb you."

I rolled onto my side, facing him, and propped my head up on my hand.

"Cullen, I haven't got the faintest idea what is wrong," I lied. I ran my other hand down his spine, and he shivered. "Is this something you need to write me a letter about?"

He started to laugh, but it turned into a groan as I moved my hand from his back, over his side, and down his abdomen. Maker, the musculature on this man.

"Evelyn, what are you—" he managed to choke out, before I slid my hand lower and started to explore the place where the ridge of his arousal was pressed up against his smallclothes. He let out his breath in a long hiss as I ran my fingers down the length of him.

"You know," I said, slowly moving my fingers back up, "I don't really know the optimal word for this part of your body."

"I am not—" he gasped, "I am not going to teach you filthy words for—for anything."

"Hm," I said, "I suppose I'll just have to guess."

"Penis," I whispered in his ear. I felt him struggle mightily against the impulse, shaking with the effort, but then he started to laugh.

"Of all the—" he wheezed, putting a hand over his eyes. "Evelyn, I have had a thousand desire demons whisper the most obscene things you can imagine to me in my dreams, and never has any one of them said the word 'penis.'"

"Well, I'll mark that off the list then," I acknowledged, rubbing my fingertips against him a bit harder. He shivered, and pressed himself up against my hand, but continued to laugh. "How about…manly cutlass?"

"That's terrible!" he said, then rocked his hips against me for a moment. Catching his breath, he added, "You're keeping a list?"

"Certainly," I said. "I'll be sure to submit my research findings to you at a later date." I put my hand around as much of him as I could, through the smallclothes. He began to breathe harder through his nose. "Manroot?"

He gasped, "Is that a plant?"

"Possibly, but I'd have to check my book. Or maybe one of Cassandra's." I slid my hand down into the front of his smallclothes and touched him with my bare hand. I knew that he would be very hard, but the skin there was surprisingly soft and hot. I traced around the head and then wrapped my fingers fully around him, and squeezed. He jumped, then let out a long, shaky breath. I was feeling very aroused, and lightly rubbed my breasts against his back, wishing that I'd removed my shirt. We had both begun to breathe faster. "How about—"

A second later, I found myself flat on my back, Cullen on top of me and between my legs. He'd pinned my wandering hand above my head and was gasping and growling against my neck. He ground his hips against me and I moaned and involuntarily spread my legs wider.

"Maker's breath, woman," he said through gritted teeth, "the word is 'cock.'"

"Cock," I said, and felt him twitch. "Can I have my hand back?"

He sat up and looked at me suspiciously. "Why?"

"So I can touch your cock," I explained.

He jerked against me and tightened his grip on my wrist. "Fuck, Evelyn," he hissed. "Stop that."

"I didn't do anything," I complained, wiggling against him, "because you won't give me my hand back."

"If I give you your hand back, you'll get into trouble," he said, leaning back down and kissing, then biting, the side of my neck.

"Yes, but one might also argue that," I wiggled my fingers at him, "you should give me back my hand for just that same reason." I turned my head to allow him better access to my neck. "At least take off my shirt."

"No," he said, nuzzling my ear, "you can obviously not be trusted." He slid his free hand up under my shirt, wiggled it under my breast band, and gently pinched my nipple. I gasped and raised my hips, adjusting the angle incrementally until I was rubbing against just the right spot. My eyes started to roll back in my head and I moaned softly, but I was still frustrated at the clothing between us. "Please," I whispered.

"All right," he breathed, and released my hand, and then quickly undid the clasps on my shirt. I sat up a bit so he could pull it off of me, and he tossed it in the corner. I untucked the end of my breast band and was unwinding it when, suddenly tender, he stroked his hand down my neck and chest and picked up my necklace.

"You kept it," he said softly, "I saw you wearing it in the tent. Why did you keep it if you thought…I didn't love you anymore?"

I reached my hand up and stroked his face. "Dearest, you gave it to me. It reminds me of how I feel about you, not just how you feel about me."

"Evelyn," he said, and we kissed for a long time, slow and hot and unhurried. I began to feel restless, so I pulled the rest of my band out from in between us and rubbed myself against his bare chest. He groaned, and kissed his way down my chest to lick and rub my breasts. I took advantage of the distance this created between us to divest myself of my pants and smallclothes, and I lay naked beneath him. I slowly started to inch my hand down again, but he grabbed it and imprisoned it back above my head.

"Were you trying to get into trouble again?" he gasped.

I shrugged. "It was worth a try."

Putting his forehead between my breasts and breathing deeply, he paused for a moment. Then he reached down between us and began to gently rub between my legs. I made an embarrassing squeak.

"You know, Evelyn," he growled, "you haven't really told me the optimal name for this part of your body."

I whimpered, grasping onto his shoulder with my free hand. He pulled away and stroked down my hip, giving me time to think. "Uh…a lot of those words aren't very nice, and the ones that are, well, they're quite inane."

"I'd love to hear some examples," he rumbled. "I'd argue it's only fair."

"I think it's only fair if you're the one who comes up with the words this time," I shot back. He looked genuinely horrified.

"I—I don't think—"

I laughed and poked him in the side. "Fine, I'll do it, but you have to give me back my hand. My shoulder hurts." He let go of me immediately, and I smiled at him. "All right, let me think." I danced my hands down his back. "Bearded clam."

"What? Oh. That isn't very nice, is it?"

"I suppose if you like clams. How about…belle-chose," I suggested.

"That's Orlesian for 'good…thing?' I suppose that's…true?" He braced himself on an elbow above me and smiled. He trailed his fingers across the scars on my collarbone, and down my arm to my hand. He took my fingers in his, and kissed them.

"Blooming rose."

"But that's…oh. Oh! Oh." He looked like he had somehow arrived at an amazing revelation. "Maker's breath." He shook his head. I decided I'd rather not know. He let go of my hand and began to unbraid my hair.

"Most of the really filthy ones are no fun, either." I complained. "If you have an axe-wound, you don't want anyone to touch it. Well, not unless your lover is a healer, I suppose. Anyway, too complicated." As I spoke, he combed his fingers through my hair, spreading it on the pillow beside me.

"Allow me to rephrase the question, then," he chuckled, and stroked his hand down my leg, wrapping his fingers around my ankle. "What do you call yours?"

"Oh," I said, and I smiled what I hoped was a terribly mysterious smile, "that's a secret."

"How mysterious," he grinned back at me, and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Did you know that this unnamed body part of yours has completely soaked my smallclothes?" I gasped and jerked my hips against him, and he placed my ankle behind his back, then pushed the offending article of clothing off and kicked it away. "You seem jumpy, Evelyn."

He trailed his hand back up my leg and began to rub himself most intimately against me. I attempted to wiggle away playfully, but instead managed to grind myself up against him even more. He gritted his teeth and stopped moving.

"What do I get if I tell you?" I teased breathlessly.

"Maker, Evelyn, anything you want," he panted.

So I leaned up and whispered a particularly colorful word in his ear. He froze and his muscles tensed, but I could feel his cock twitching against me. He must not have expected an actual reply.

"I'm sorry, I should have phrased that in the form of a question," I said, reaching down and pushing his hips towards me. "Cullen, would you f—"

He put his hand beneath my head, grabbed a handful of hair, and slid into me, hard, shoving my face into his shoulder. I bit him there, and he snarled deep in his chest and thrust even harder, pushing me down into the pillow. I scratched my nails down his back, raising my hips to meet him. He reached back and pulled my arms away, capturing them both over my head, entwining his fingers with mine. I lost track of time, pinned beneath him in that way, twisting against his body.

Eventually, he let go of my hands, dug his fingers into my hips, and thrust his cock into me one last time. He twitched and arched his back and growled and gasped my name, and I wrapped my arms around him and held him close until he lay still. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing slow, feeling the magical and physical and emotional resonance between my body and his.

"Evelyn," he rumbled in my ear, "I do love you." He paused, cleared his throat. "Did you…?"

This man, who has bitten me, bruised me, and fucked me until I'd seen stars, has to be cajoled and coerced into using any kind of language at all to talk about sex. Well, at least he was trying to talk, which is what I'd asked for. Talking about sex in a letter was obviously an advanced technique, but maybe I'd get him to work on it in the future.

"Did I what?" I purred.

"You know," he grumbled.

"Yes, I do, but I want you to ask me anyway," I said sweetly. "Communication, remember?"

"Did you…come?" he said the last part to the corner of the bedroll.

"Poor man," I said sadly, "forced to use such language while still buried in the body of the woman he made passionate love to just minutes before." I felt his body twitch and I groaned as he rolled off me.

"You are cruel," he said, gathering me up against his chest. "And where did you learn that other word, anyway?"

"My grandmother taught it to me," I said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Wait, the daughter of an Orlesian duke?" he sputtered.

"Both of my parents were very conservative." I smiled at the memory. "Grand-maman visited one summer and was downright horrified that I hadn't been told about matters between a man and a woman. Or two women. Or two men, although I'm not sure why she told me that. Perhaps she was just trying to be thorough, because you never know who you will marry when you're a noble. Of course, my parents would have died if they knew she was telling me about things like discreetly taking a lover and how to prevent conception."

"At any rate, it's a good, strong, crude word. It's not a flower or a piece of food, it's part of my body. And since you asked so politely, no, I did not come, but the experience was still very satisfying for me."

"Hm." He frowned, then pushed me onto my back and started kissing my shoulder.

"What are you up to?" I asked, surprised.

"You know," he grumbled again.

"You want me to say it?" I asked, curiously. He shrugged, which for him was an indication that he quite possibly wanted me to do so very badly, but didn't know how to ask. Well, I could meet him halfway.

I realized then, that this sweet, loyal, shy man was trying to get me to talk dirty to him. I thought about the previous times we'd been intimate, and there were a number of things I'd said to him—or coerced him into saying—that had sent him over the edge. If this is truly the case, I may need to delve deeper into Cassandra's library for resource materials.

I pulled him down next to me and put my mouth next to his ear.

"Cullen," I said breathlessly, putting my hand on his chest, "Would you please…stroke my cunt until I come?" I asked, using the word I'd whispered to him before.

The results were significant: I felt his cock twitch to life against my thigh, he started breathing through his nose, and his heart rate beneath my hand definitely increased. Obviously we both benefited from this arrangement. He seemed to find it very arousing when I reached my peak, and then made love to me again, more slowly and tenderly than the first time. And when he told me he loved me, it was like he was repeating a vow.

I was just drifting off—he must have assumed I was not awake—when I heard him let out a huge, shuddering sigh. He wiped his face quickly, then gathered me closer, and we both went to sleep.

It feels wonderfully good to have him back in my life, to laugh and tease him, make love, write down these silly conversations to save and savor later. I do not doubt his sincerity, but it felt good before and he was sincere before. Logic says: make a clean break, do it now when so much of the pain has already occurred. But together we've chosen to go a different way, and even if more pain is the eventual result, I think it is incredibly important for us both that we try. For how else are we both to truly leave the Circle, to relinquish the control it has had over both of our lives?

It was arrogant of me to assume that he was the only one whose life had been damaged, but I suppose that self-knowledge is the hardest kind to come by. I've tried to take the first step here, by advocating for myself and not calmly accepting whatever I am given just because the end result is close to what I want. Cullen will attempt to communicate with me instead of shutting down, and I will try to be less passive. I think it will work, if we both sincerely make the attempt, and give ourselves time.

Of course, Corypheus has never waited patiently to the side, giving us all the time we need to prepare for his assault. But perhaps it is time to live my entire life on my own terms, less passively. I must own my power, begin to use it to truly shape not only my own life, but the world around me. We have been chasing behind him for too long. When we get back to Skyhold, we will gather our intelligence and I will begin to look for opportunities to strike at the monster himself. I think that I am ready, and the Inquisition is ready to stand behind me.


	41. The Fireflies were Key

Author's Note:

This chapter is NSFW.

* * *

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

I wonder if there is a small set of former Templars who can force themselves to sleep past dawn. For a moment, I briefly considered Evelyn's former companion Liam, as he certainly seems to be a very stubborn man, but I could not visualize him engaging in such softness. Templars like that woke up, ate six raw eggs, said the entire Chant of Transfiguration, and kicked abominations until noon as their training regimens. Ella said, though, that he'd begun to forget because of the lyrium, and I wondered if the ability to sleep in was ever a side-effect. For the rest of us, though: always-awake at dawn. Or before.

This before-dawn was different, though, because Evelyn was there. I closed my eyes and whispered a quick prayer of thanks: "My Creator, judge me whole: find me well within Your grace, touch me with fire that I be cleansed, tell me I have sung to Your approval." She had stayed. I'll make it work, do what I need to do to treat her the way she deserves. Maker, I swear, I swear.

She had kicked some of her covers off, and I ran my hand over her hip, the scars of her lower back, and the two small divots above her bottom. So many tiny details of her body that I wanted to learn. And the rest of her…she shivered, so I pulled the blankets up over her, removing at least the visual temptation of her body.

But then she rolled over, opened her eyes, and looked at me sleepily.

"Good morning," she whispered. "Do you have to go soon?"

"No," I smiled, "I will make some time this morning."

"That sounds nice," she said, her eyes half-lidded. I had a split-second realization that she wasn't just sleepy before she reached her hand out, ran it down my stomach, and wrapped it around my cock. I gasped and involuntarily thrust my hips, and she smiled. She moved a bit closer, rubbing and exploring under the covers. I put my hand around hers and showed her how tight to grip me and how to move her hand, which was wonderful except after about a minute, I almost came.

"Slow down," I gasped, grabbing her hand.

"All right," she smiled mysteriously, moving her hand to rest on my hip. "Do you want to try something different?"

"Uh," I said intelligently, "what kind of different?"

"Well," she said, "Cassandra has this book with pictures…"

"Wait, what? Cassandra…Seeker Pentaghast? Has a…dirty book?"

"Oh, she has lots of them," she said enthusiastically. "Dorian said he wasn't particularly interested in this one, so I took it. It had some interesting etchings. Varric says he knows the artist."

"You…what are you doing all the time you're out in the field with these people?" I asked incredulously.

"Kill things, close rifts, help people, the things I tell you about, really," she shrugged. "In between, we have a lot of time to talk."

"Do you talk about…me?" I was suddenly self-conscious.

"Almost nothing." She smiled, running her fingers down my face. "Cassandra knows, because of a time I was feeling very…sad about some things you'd said, and the decision I had to make at Redcliffe made things seem hopeless. But that was before Haven fell, and she's never said anything to the others."

I thought about the drafts of the letter she'd had tucked away with her phylactery, the one with sketches of me drawn on the back. When I'd first found them, I hadn't understood.

"Ah," I said, feeling terribly regretful, and pulled her up against me, pillowing her head on my shoulder. I started to comb the tangles out of her hair with my fingers. There were…a lot of knots at the back of her head.

"Cole knows, and he's been nattering at me about birds for weeks. And I guess Dorian and Varric do too, since you, you know, confessed your feelings for me at the Temple of Dumat. Right after you threw up."

I let out an enormous sigh. "I was feeling very…emotional…just then. And I do like birds," I added defensively.

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I know that you like birds. Brown ones. You built a birdfeeder with Blackwall. Maker, I've heard all about it. Anyway, the emotional effect of red lyrium is one of the reasons I must be very careful to keep my composure when we fight against those things. Several of my spells, and my level of available mana, depend on my ability to maintain my combat clarity, but red lyrium can heighten existing emotions, especially negative ones. You have to be cautious."

I thought of how Knight-Commander Meredith's anger and paranoia had grown after she'd obtained her red lyrium sword, and how Evelyn had snapped at me in the Temple. I wisely decided to keep my mouth shut about the latter, because I'd deserved it.

"So," she smiled, "I have kept things to myself, despite the best efforts of some to find out. But it is difficult to keep secrets. I think Dorian has been sleeping with Iron Bull, for example."

"Wait, what? That's not even—how—"

"If you want to know how, exactly, I'm sure Cassandra has a book somewhere that can describe the process for you. If that is something you're interested in, though," she poked my side, "we should probably have a talk."

"That's not what I meant," I snapped, beginning to blush.

She laughed. "I know. Dorian enjoys the company of men, and Iron Bull enjoys the company of…everyone."

"Oh," I said. So apparently Dorian's incessant flirting with Evelyn is just…incessant flirting. That was comforting. I began to work a particularly tight knot out of her hair. "The fight at the Temple was not at all what I expected. I've never battled…beside a mage," I explained, "always in front of them. They're usually back where Dorian was. And…you have a sword?"

"I do!" she bubbled, "Isn't it exciting? It's new. I've wanted one for so long!" I made a mental note: no jewelry, only magical swords for this woman. Simple enough.

"When I traveled with the Templars, I found a text discussing a bit about Arcane Warriors and Knight-Enchanters in the Ostwick library, and Liam was able to help me find more manuscripts and even begin to train. I've been working on it for years, laying the groundwork on my barriers and disruption techniques, but it wasn't until Josephine was able to find me another Knight-Enchanter to finally help me make the blade that things fell into place. Commander Helaine is horribly strict and even she admits I've already surpassed both her and Vivienne in everything but my skill with the sword."

I'd seen Helaine around Skyhold, and she seemed like a formidable woman, not unlike Vivienne. It was no surprise that they'd both trained in the same techniques, and I found myself perversely pleased that Evelyn had already been able to eclipse both of their abilities. She was obviously superior in all ways. I had removed most of the knots from her hair, and began to plait it into a sloppy braid.

"Do you have any experience with a sword?" I asked curiously. Most mages I knew would never even dream of picking one up, much less dedicate years of their lives to the study of such a weapon. Mages used staves.

"Some," she said. "Liam trained me in the blade for several years, although I was…never good enough. And I couldn't practice when I was in the Circle, only when I traveled. I got special dispensation from the Chantry for the staff, but I don't think they would have agreed to the sword. I suppose it was something small Liam felt he could do for me. I told him I had the blade before we left Skyhold. He was...very proud." She frowned.

"At any rate, I look better than most of the recruits I see you yelling at, and I've been training a bit with Cassandra, but she's not a teacher. She is a good friend to me, but she has no patience and her feedback is...poor. I've been thinking about ways to improve, how I can truly hone this power. Would you consider helping me?"

"I'd like that," I said, surprised at her request. "Perhaps on the journey back to Skyhold…?"

"What are you doing to my hair?" she cast a suspicious glare at my hands. "Do you even know how to braid?"

"We had horses in Honnleath," I said defensively. "So these new techniques…does that include the healing?"

"Give me that," she snapped, pulling the tangle of hair out of my hands and moving it beyond my reach. "Horses, really? The healing is…something different. I've been working on the theory of it for a long time, but I wasn't really able to get it to work until…" she smiled shyly at me, "until the night we spent together at Skyhold."

"Oh?" I asked. Warmth spread through my stomach, thinking about that evening. I tried not to contemplate what had happened afterwards. "Does it have to do with the fireflies?"

"Excellent deduction!" she exclaimed, and sat up, gesturing enthusiastically. She told me that she'd taught apprentices before, but I'd never seen this particular side of her before, and smiled. "The fireflies were key. Now, what do you think…" she paused, looking at me for a second, then lay back down.

"Let's talk about that later," she said, rolling closer and draping her leg over my hip. My mouth went dry. "Your smile has distracted me, and I was thinking," she trailed her hand down my chest, "maybe you're interested in trying out that thing from Cassandra's book. If you have time…"

I didn't have time. "I have time," I breathed.

"Good," she smiled mysteriously at me again. "Let me tell you about it first." She propped herself up a bit, and then began to whisper hoarsely in my ear. "Here's what we'll do: I'll get on my hands and knees and spread my legs."

And that is how I ended up collapsed on top of her, both of us face down and gasping, when I probably should have been dressed and leaving. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, then rolled off of her and looked at the light beginning to stream into the tent. I sat up.

"Maker, I need to go!" I exclaimed.

"Mmm…" she said from the bedroll, and shivered. "Mmm."

I stood up unsteadily, splashed cold water on myself, toweled off, and began to get dressed.

"Evelyn?" I said, putting on my breeches and doublet and smoothing down my hair.

"Mmm?"

"Will you help me with my armor this morning?"

She sat up, shaking her head a bit, suddenly much more alert. "Yes, of course," she smiled. She brought me the pieces of my armor as I requested them, and helped me settle into my breastplate. I had worried that the light of day might make things awkward again, or remind her of the stress and pain of the past few weeks, but she seemed to be happy and relaxed, and the morning felt easy and familiar. Intimate.

When I finished, she gave me a kiss. "I'll rest a bit today, and bring my things over to the tent?"

"That sounds lovely," I smiled, feeling suddenly shy. "I will be busy preparing this platoon of soldiers to head down and relieve Ser Rylen, so I cannot guarantee that I will see you much of the day. Perhaps we could try to have dinner together?"

She laughed and smacked my backside. "I know better than to count on that, Commander. Go work and I'll see you when I see you." She fastened my mantle at my throat, kissed me again, and said, "I love you, Cullen."

"I love you too," I beamed at her.

"Get out of here," she said. "You're all puffed up again."


	42. All of Me, Past and Present

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

Over the next two days, I prepared the platoon for their trip south to Griffon Wing Keep. Ser Rylen's outpost has been an invaluable resource for the Inquisition in Western Orlais, but the posting is understandably a stressful one for the troops. The Knight-Captain has requested additional manpower to increase morale and ease up on troop rotations, and I think this group will be a good fit. The Inquisitor's insistence on teaming up mages and Templars has yielded exemplary results, and I hope we can continue to capitalize on this strength.

On the third day after our raid of the Temple, we set back out for Skyhold. I hope that Maddox's tools will provide the results that we are looking for once we get them back to Dagna. I was initially very angry about what Maddox had done, but perhaps, in death, he will enable us to make a meaningful strike against Corypheus. It still seems a terrible waste of a life.

Since the evening that we reconciled, Evelyn has moved all of her possessions into my tent and spends her nights with me. Our working relationship has not altered, and initially her companions had little to say about the change, beyond some wiggled eyebrows on the part of Dorian.

Their little group has a particular rhythm to their travels, and I have fallen into this pattern as well. We travel from mid-morning to late afternoon, then set up camp, prepare food, and rest until the next day. It would not be the most efficient way of travelling if we were headed a short distance, but since we're travelling halfway across Orlais, it seems to be the most sustainable method.

After several days of making good time, Evelyn hesitantly requested that I begin to train occasionally with her in the mornings. I've been using this time to correspond with my lieutenants and Leliana in Skyhold, but I can certainly spare the time while I am waiting for replies, and it is good to keep limber and in good form during such long trips. And if I am honest, this is something at which I excel, and I am not so modest of a man that I would not enjoy having opportunities to impress her.

That next morning, Evelyn and I rose before dawn. She has assisted me in donning my armor every morning, a small ritual that has come to mean very much to me. She put on her armored robes and grabbed her staff, and we walked out to a small level field nearby.

"So," she asked, a bit nervously, "what would you like to do? It's been a long time since I trained with a Templar."

I got the impression that her training with the hunters had been less than pleasant, so I decided to talk to her a bit, in order to get her to relax.

"This sword you have," I began, "can you tell me a little more about it so I can think about how you can use it most effectively?"

"Certainly," she said, moving into a more relaxed posture, her legs spread a bit and her hands clasped behind her back. "The spirit, or spectral blade, is the mage's will made physical. The mage crafts a hilt made to hold a willing spirit, to help the mage weave or forge mana into an unbreakable sword. The mage then channels their personal energy into the blade and the spirit creates it. No one else can use it."

"Why are you interested in training with it?" I asked. "You seemed to be using it effectively in the fight at the Temple, and you already have years of practice with the staff. I've never known another mage who even wanted to fight with a blade—it's not your weapon."

She drew her staff and looked down at it. "I initially thought that myself. The staff is…comfortable. It feels safe. The blade is the culmination of my magic and the work I did with the Templars, and I must admit that makes me uncomfortable."

Replacing her staff, she rocked back on her heels for a moment. "This blade is all of me, past and present, and I feel it is important that I master it if I can, because one must always master oneself. Also, it is an extremely powerful weapon, and I think I owe it to both the Inquisition and myself to try."

"What form does the blade take?" I asked, curious to see it. "I didn't get a good look at it before."

She cocked her head to the side, gave me that sudden sharp look. "The sword can take any shape the wielder desires of it. What form of sword would you have chosen for me, had you been there to train me from the beginning?"

"If I had been there from the beginning…"I said. I would have vociferously protested her presence, regarded her with suspicion, and avoided interacting with her whenever possible, letting her know of my resentment in a thousand tiny ways. If I had been ordered to train her, and was unable to refuse the order, I would have been incredibly tough with her, possibly more physical than was called for, so she would know that this was not her sphere, that she did not belong.

I cleared my throat after a moment, and focused on who I am now, this new beginning with the Inquisition and her, and not any other.

"I favor the broadsword myself, as you may have seen. For me, it's light and fast and works well with my shield. Any weapon in the right hands can be deadly. But for you…" I thought for a moment, "the longsword, I think, one with a nice long hilt. The longsword is closer kin to a staff or spear than one might suspect at first glance, so your previous training and instinct would not hold you back. It might even improve your technique."

"In that case, you will be pleased." She reached for her belt, pulled open a slipknot, and handed me the hilt of a blade.

It was quite long, with a wide crossguard, but a bit smaller than I would have chosen for myself, obviously made to fit her hands. The metal had a slight bluish cast, indicating that it was made of lazurite. It was not the highest-quality metal for a sword, but I doubted that the physical qualities of the hilt had anything real to do with its performance in the hands of its wielder. The crossguard was curved slightly toward the blade, but had no real ornamentation save for a blue gem set in the pommel. I felt a small whisper of power as I held it.

"Knight-Captain Liam said a longsword was the only thing extra he had lying around, so it was what I was going to use, and I should be grateful. I always resented never having had the choice. From what you said, I…don't know if he was telling the truth, though."

"So this is what you must wield?"

"No, the hilt does not dictate the shape of the blade, I simply need to have it on my person to house the spirit. But I like using the hilt to manifest the blade, because I made it myself. As much as I felt…ambivalent about the longsword, I didn't want to use anything else, either."

It seemed like talking about the blade and the Templars was actually making her more nervous, so I decided to move on.

"Well," I said, "shall we begin? We don't have practice blades, but we can be careful. I've done enough training with raw recruits that I should be able to take almost anything you can throw at me. From the limited amount I've seen, the blade truly becomes the most deadly in your hands when you also combine it with your magical abilities."

"That's accurate," she said, "and that's why I'd like to improve my skill with just the blade. I should be able to use it in its own right, and not as just an ancillary ability."

I nodded. I hoped she wasn't a complete mess.

"But I can easily put a barrier on both of us that will deflect blows, if you don't mind. And if you ask nicely," she winked, "I'll use the one that doesn't shock the shit out of you—excuse me, 'apply an electrical shock'— if you hit it."

I handed the hilt back to her, placed my hands on the hilt of my own sword and smiled at her, pleased to see her joking again. "It would probably be best if you did not electrocute both of us, Evelyn."

"Well," she smiled back, "it would only electrocute you, not me." She gripped the wide hilt of the longsword with both hands, one at the pommel and the other at the cross-guard. "This will also be different for me because I haven't meditated, but I'll give it a try." The blade winked into existence—one moment it wasn't there, and then the next it was. The entire sword glowed with the blue-white light I'd come to associate with Evelyn's magic.

"Shall we?" I asked, and drew my sword.

She nodded nervously, a barrier sprang up around us both, and I moved towards her. We circled for a moment, and I attacked, a quick overhand blow to test the waters. She should have parried, but instead she sidestepped and continued to move around me. I made two more strikes at her, and each time she simply ducked or leaped out of the way.

I paused. "Inquisitor," I said pointedly, "I can't see how well you use the weapon if you won't use the weapon. This won't work on a crowded battlefield. Look, just try to hit me: don't hold back. The barrier will protect me. That is, unless your barrier is…poorly constructed?"

"Fine," she snapped.

I swung another overhand blow and, to my surprise, she parried by sliding her hand halfway down the blade itself, and stopping the blow between both hands as she would have with a staff, sword parallel to the ground. Continuing to grip the middle of the blade, she shoved me back with a grunt and began to advance, making quick slices at my face, neck, and underarm with the end of her sword, using it not unlike a short spear. Yes!

I parried these attacks, suddenly wishing I'd brought my shield, and took a step or two back to regain my balance. I moved forward again, attacking more forcefully this time, and she was able to deflect all of my blows using the half-grip she had on her sword. I had the advantage of height and weight on her, however, and I pressed even closer, looming over her and testing her defenses. She parried one of my blows with her sword, then slid both hands to the hilt while jumping backwards, putting the full length of the blade between us again. Yes, yes, yes.

I continued to advance, placing more force behind my strikes, and I could see that catching the blows lower down on her blade, in a more traditional way, was beginning to wear on her. The wide grip of the hilt allowed her at least some leverage, however, it was not what she was used to.

It was a lovely, cool dawn, the sun had barely risen, and my muscles loosened up. I shook off the stiffness of the morning, rolled my neck, and began to relax into the rhythm of the fight. I could do this all day, but sweat was running down her face and into her eyes, and I began to press closer, this time with the goal of striking a real blow and no longer holding back—it seemed like she could take it.

As I moved into her space yet again, she switched to her half-grip, stabbed at my face with the tip of the blade, and when I dodged my head to the side, pivoted a bit and used her other hand to punch me in the face with the pommel. It was well-timed and executed, but she could have put more force behind it.

The barrier flashed and I stepped back, surprised at the light. She took the opportunity to completely invert her grip on the blade, one hand in the middle and one towards the tip, and swung it like a club at the top of my head, dealing me what would have been a ringing blow with the hilt. The barrier flashed in my face again, but I expected it this time, regrouped quickly and struck back at her shoulder with all my strength. She dropped to one knee, ducking the blow, hooked the curved crossguard around my ankle, and pulled me off my feet.

She swung her inverted sword again, hacking the hilt down toward my head, stopping just as the crossguard touched the place where my shoulder met my neck. It would have been a savage, deadly blow. I had thought that she would be more of a "genteel" fighter, hesitant and unsuited to the battlefield, but the way she'd been taught to fight was practical and dirty. She'd literally knocked me on my ass because of it.

I started to laugh. I laughed and laughed as the barrier flickered and vanished along with her sword. She bent over, hands on her knees, and panted and coughed, dripping sweat. She wobbled forward, grabbed a piece of my cloak, and wiped her face with it.

"That's all I have," she gasped.

I extended my hand, still laughing, and she reached to pull me up, but I grabbed her forearm with my other hand, pulled her down on my chest, and then rolled on top of her.

"Get off me, you fucking nug-humper!" she wheezed. I kissed her. She bit my lip. I pulled back and grinned at her, and she grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my head back down into another kiss. I tasted blood and sweat and dirt and it was glorious.

A small amount of cheering and cries of "Heeeey" came from the edge of the field. I looked up, grinning, and wiped the blood off my face. Several of her companions had apparently come to watch us spar. I found myself not bothered at all, no longer worried if they saw that there was something between us. It was a huge relief, to be honest, as up until that point I was unsure how I'd respond when they found out.

"Hey Boss, you wanna save some of that for me?" Iron Bull called.

"I don't know, Bull. You holding out for me, the Commander, or both?" she called back, smiling up at me. I blushed and rolled off of her, sitting up.

"Hey, after that, I'd just settle for five minutes alone with your armor."

I stood, extended a hand to her, and pulled her up next to me. Iron Bull and Dorian sauntered toward us, with Vivienne, of all people, gliding a few steps behind. I ignored her.

"We'll compromise," I said evenly. "Stay away from the Inquisitor, and you may have one of my socks. Under no circumstances are you to return it or ever speak of it to me again. Have Dorian burn it for you, if you must."

The Qunari clapped me on my shoulder. "It's a deal!" he bellowed. "You're all right, Cullen. The first time she tried that on me she yanked the sword out of my hand. It's just unnatural for mages to pull that crap."

I dusted myself off, placed my hands on the hilt of my sword, and rocked back on my heels, analyzing what had just happened. I was very pleased.

She grunted. "I think most of it was surprise this time around, too. He was holding back, and honestly, I wasn't. It's still rough for me to go one-on-one with the blade. It's very…physical." She rolled her shoulders and neck.

"Your fundamentals seem solid, if a bit rusty," I began, "and the half-sword technique is well-suited for someone already trained in the use of the staff. Not many would have thought to teach you that, as it's gone out of favor in recent years, so I'm impressed. You need to learn to truly use the sword as a sword, however. You are weakest when both hands are on the hilt, because you don't have the leverage you are used to with a staff."

She nodded.

"It is a particularly effective technique against armored opponents, as I hope you know. The strikes you were making were at the most vulnerable points in full plate, here," I pointed at my armpit, "and here," I pointed at where my neck met my shoulder. "And striking with the hilt, using it as a blunt weapon, can also damage armor itself."

"If I may be so bold, it's not foolproof," Vivienne interjected, "because the blade will still disappear if a Templar uses a strong enough anti-magic field."

Evelyn nodded. "She's right. Vivienne has a much better feel for when to close with Templars than I do."

"Her sword's even bigger than the Inquisitor's," Bull snickered.

"Don't be crude, darling," Vivienne said smoothly.

Iron Bull blinked and swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow at the Inquisitor. "You formed some bad habits training with a real blade, my dear, and the way you fight is not particularly…refined. Some of the things you did would give a decent chevalier apoplexy, but I suppose there is nothing for it. Knight-Enchanters are a distinguished fellowship, and are among the most select mages. They do not…self-educate. I'm still surprised the Templars allowed it."

Dorian grinned. "Templars will allow all sorts of things, Madame Vivienne. One just needs to know how to ask properly."

"On that," she looked at him haughtily, "I find that we agree. To my great surprise and disgust."

"Anyway, Inquisitor," I said loudly, "I am pleased to see how effective you currently are. You're fast and agile, but you need to improve your stamina and your confidence, as you said. Another minute, and you would have been completely winded. But the fact of the matter is, you dealt me several blows, one of them deadly, and you knocked me completely off my feet. I'd really like to see you work on your grappling, too, as it would be another way to get your opponent on the ground to strike at him. I will work out a training plan for you, and I think you will be pleased with the results."

I clapped her on the shoulder proudly. She winced. "Don't be discouraged! You definitely surprised even me with the way you fought, and many will not be prepared for it. Despite what Vivienne says, that's a good sign. Also," I nodded approvingly, "the part where you called me a 'fucking nug-humper' really hurt my feelings."

Iron Bull snorted, looked at Vivienne, then remained silent.

Evelyn grinned ruefully and nodded. "Thank you, Commander. I'll apologize later for my outburst, but first I need to take my bruised ego back to the camp and start preparing the horses." She rubbed her shoulder, then set off in the direction of the tents. Iron Bull and Dorian followed, laughing, but to my chagrin, Vivienne stayed.

"I would speak with you, Commander," she intoned. "Will you please accompany me?"

"Of course, Madame Vivienne," I said. She tucked her hand in my elbow and I found myself escorting her like a gentleman. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

"I see that you have persisted in your ill-advised assignation with the Inquisitor, Commander Cullen," she began. I said nothing.

"I had hoped, perhaps, if you were gently reminded of the undesirable nature of the situation, that you might change your mind."

"The Inquisitor is a good woman with a generous heart," I said as coldly as I could. "I believe even you, yourself, have sought her aid when all others failed you."

"Cullen, dear, the Templar Order must not vanish. Can you not see how important they are to the fate of the entire world?" she demanded. "That is larger than our tiny tragedies could ever be, and renders even good intentions meaningless."

"Be that as it may, Madame Vivienne," I said softly, "I am no longer a Templar. I gave them over half of my life, all of myself, and I am done. I will continue to serve, but not the Templar Order. I deserve some small piece of happiness for my own, and I will not have it torn away, not by the Templars, not by Corypheus, and not by you."

We walked in silence for a moment.

"I cherish the years I spent with my dear Bastien," she said.

"I am sorry for your loss," I said.

"It will be fine, dear," she said, and we walked back to camp in silence.


End file.
